


my heart in your place

by joongz



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming Out, First Love, Hongjoong is in denial, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn-ish, they play card games a lot because that's what you do when you're in your twenties and gay, yunho has a pretty chill bisexual realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongz/pseuds/joongz
Summary: If Hongjoong was honest, he could lose himself in this. Unlearn everything he had ever been taught because there was nothing he wanted to do more than this: kiss Jeong Yunho religiously.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa, minor jongho/mingi in the background
Comments: 20
Kudos: 169





	my heart in your place

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!
> 
> i wrote this while being mostly anxious so it might not make that much sense lmao but i just wanted to write something not so angsty.. hope you enjoy it regardless!!

Kim Hongjoong fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag. With a sigh he pulled it up, over his shoulder, and passed both of his hands over his wrinkled button up to make it look more even. He glanced at himself through the reflection of his phone: his blue hair was still in place, but as he eyed his stupidly ugly shorts he now regretted wearing them. He looked like an obnoxious salesman rather than a university student. Wooyoung had warned him about using those white shorts with the white socks and the dark blue button up. 

He looked ridiculous. 

This was such a bad first impression for his summer class.

He inwardly groaned, shaking his head slightly to get rid of all the doubts running through his mind. With a sigh he opened the door, his eyes cast on his stupid shoes, and he searched for an empty spot int he back of the classroom. Thankfully it wasn’t too full and their professor wasn’t there yet.

He let his bag drop and himself next to it, finally looking up.

With startlement he realized that there was someone already sitting in that row, a _very_ _tall_ _someone_. How could he have overseen him?

Hongjoong swallowed his nerves, opting to ignore the stranger with the strawberry blonde hair, but that thought went down the drain when the giant turned his head towards Hongjoong.

Suddenly a very strong gust of wind filtered through the classroom’s windows, the curtains fluttering and allowing a little sunshine to peek inside. The first thing Hongjoong really noticed about the stranger—beside his hair color—was a pleasant and strong scent of mint and soap. The second thing was a pair of dark brown eyes that Hongjoong was sure he had seen somewhere before.

With a pleasant voice the stranger said, “Hello.”

Hongjoong took a moment before replying. “Uh, hi!”

The stranger tilted his head, smiling peculiarly. “Jeong Yunho.”

The name rang a bell, very far away.

“Kim Hongjoong,” he responded. “Nice to meet you,” he added politely.

Yunho’s eyes widened; he held Hongjoong’s growing confusing gaze.

“Uh,” the guy let out. “Nice to meet you too.” 

The way Yunho said it did not sound like it was nice to meet Hongjoong, not at all, and Hongjoong took a little offense to that. He scrunched up his nose and turned his head towards the front of the classroom.

Their professor arrived two minutes too late, tripping over his feet and nearly crashing his laptop. He shot his students an apologetic grin before he set up his gear and turned on the projector to broadcast his powerpoint presentation.

Hongjoong settled comfortably into his seat and began taking notes, but he wasn’t unaware of the glances Yunho kept shooting him throughout the class. It was unnerving, made him nervous and wonder if there was something on his face.

He got his answer towards the end of the class, when Yunho softly brushed Hongjoong’s elbow, a mumbled, “Excuse me, Hongjoong-ssi can I ask you something?”

Hongjoong, in the midst of putting back his laptop and zipping up his messenger bag, nodded his head. “Sure.”

“Did you go to the Seoul Arts High School? In Jongno District?”

Hongjoong stared at Yunho, momentarily startled. Then far away memories filtered from the back of his head to the front. Of course, Jeong Yunho. 

Jeong Yunho; _how could I have forgotten?_

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of his stupid salesman clothings.

“Yes,” he replied. “You did too, didn’t you?” Yunho nodded his head, a blinding smile breaking out on his face, like he was delighted that Hongjoong remembered. “Sorry that I didn’t recognize you,” he added, embarrassed and flustered. “You look very different.” Yunho with the once curly, dark brown hair, the sheepish smile. The young man in front of Hongjoong looked nothing like him, maybe with the exception of his lips.

Leave it to Hongjoong to forget his crush, his first love. He mentally face-palmed himself.

“Ah, it’s okay.” He grinned. “What a coincidence, huh?”

A coincidence, or Hongjoong just living an incredibly cursed life. San would say it was his Scorpio curse, whatever that meant.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong breathed. “What a coincidence.”

Unfazed by Hongjoong’s slightly far-away state, Yunho continued, “Do you want to grab a coffee and catch up?” he offered.

“Ah, no, sorry. I have to—I have a thing I need to get to,” Hongjoong lied. His skin burnt and he really just needed to get home and scream into a pillow. Wooyoung didn’t have work so he most likely could join Hongjoong with the screaming.

Yunho looked dejected for a second, but soon a smile made its way on his face again. “That’s okay! Next time then?” It sounded a lot like he was asking Hongjoong for a promise.

“Next time,” Hongjoong promised, stupidly.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time Hongjoong was by Wooyoung’s dance academy to pick him up for a group dinner with San and Yeosang—recently with Seonghwa too. There was a spot by the edge of the practice room where Hongjoong had comfortably settled into, his reading glasses perched on his nose, one of his lectures in hand as he waited for Wooyoung to be done. 

He had learned to ignore the bass heavy music, the harsh breathing, and the instructions yelled out by the instructor, so he didn’t even flinch when a door opened and closed loudly. He remained focused on his lecture, after all he wanted to be as prepared as possible for his summer class. 

He was interrupted the moment someone decided to drop down next to him—not _right_ next to him, there was a little space between them—that smelled strongly of mint and soap and fresh air. Hongjoong wanted to ignore the person, really he did, but he was curious—and that scent was so painfully familiar—so he glanced up for a second and, through the mirrors around the dance room, he studied the individual.

First he saw black sweatpants and a gray sleeveless shirt with red letters on it. He saw tanned skin and very defined arms. He saw a mop of tousled strawberry blond hair—as if the wind personally had run its fingers through it to create the mess. Hongjoong bit the inside of his left cheek to keep himself from cursing under his breath. 

It was Jeong Yunho.

The same Jeong Yunho from his summer class, the same Jeong Yunho that he had once known during his high school days.

Maybe if he just ignored him, then Yunho would not take notice of him. He didn’t want to relive the embarrassment, didn’t want to acknowledge or be acknowledged by Yunho in any way or shape. He desperately hoped Yunho had a shit memory and wouldn’t even recognize him.

Then again, he had recognized him after years of not seeing one another.

Hongjoong hoped he was a sufficiently enough inconspicuous mass of clothing and flesh, not at all interesting to look at. He pulled his cap further over his bright blue hair.

The music faded out until it stopped, the harsh breathing increased in its volume by tenfold, and not even three seconds later a loud voice announced, “Hongjoong hyung! I’m _dying_!”

Wooyoung ran over to him, dropping onto the floor to press his gross and sweaty body against him in an uncomfortable hug. Hongjoong flinched, pulling his eyes away from Yunho, to reciprocate Wooyoung’s hug. A beat later he remembered that Wooyoung was drenched so he pushed him off.

“You’re gross,” he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose. He glared at Wooyoung.

“You’re breaking my heart,” Wooyoung whined, faltering until he was lying on Hongjoong’s lap, calming his breathing. “Give me like a minute.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Hongjoong complained, but he ended up running his hand through Wooyoung’s disgusting hair.

He tried his best to ignore Yunho and his friend as he simultaneously tried to listen into their conversation.

“—Die of dehydration,” Yunho’s friend was saying, unscrewing the water bottle Yunho had handed him. “I shouldn’t have taken up dancing.”

“You need to take better care of yourself. You can’t have Mingi and I constantly looking after you.”

His friend smiled cheekily. “I can do whatever I want, hyung.”

“Jongho,” Yunho says sharply. “I’m serious.”

Jongho flopped down next to him, pouting. He accidentally knocked his knee against Hongjoong’s and he bowed his head, apologizing quietly. This seemed to finally get Yunho’s attention onto Hongjoong and Wooyoung. 

Hongjoong looked away quickly, but it was too late, he already had made eye contact with Yunho, whose eyebrows shot up in recognition and amusement. 

_Please ignore me_ , he begged silently.

Hongjoong softly slapped Wooyoung’s head twice in panic. “Hey, sleepyhead, let’s go,” he urged his friend. Wooyoung groaned and complained in mumbled words. “Wooyoung, seriously. I don’t wanna stay here any longer, it reeks and—”

“Hongjoong-ssi? Hey! Funny seeing you here.”

Hongjoong cursed inwardly. He put on his fakest and most threatening smile as he turned his head to face Yunho.

“That’s me. Who are you?” he asked in his panic, pettily and stupidly. 

Yunho seemed caught off guard by the question. He opened his mouth, searching for words. Hongjoong noticed with a little sense of victory that Yunho’s ears are red and he appeared embarrassed. “Um, Jeong Yunho? We share summer class?”

Those words seemed to wake Wooyoung as he shot up from his lying position to gape at Yunho first, then at Hongjoong.

“You—” he pointed an accusatory finger at Hongjoong. “You share a class with Jeong Yunho? _The Jeong Yunho_?” Hongjoong hesitantly nodded, looking away from Yunho. What was so special about him? Wooyoung made a sound that fell between choking, laughing, and crying. “ _Hello_?!” he cried dramatically.

Yunho’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and amusement. “Hello.”

Hongjoong wanted to cry.

“Wooyoung,” he said sharply, ignoring Yunho—and Jongho, who had been silently laughing throughout the whole interaction—and shoved his lecture into his backpack. “We should leave. San will kill us if we are late again. He even offered to pay this time, don’t make him take that back. I’m broke.”

Wooyoung sobered up. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” He grinned at Yunho. “It was an honor meeting you Jeong Yunho!”

Yunho hummed. His eyebrows were still set into confusion, but there was a smile gracing his lips, and his eyes were twinkling with—mischief? amusement?—and he winked at Hongjoong when their eyes met again.

Hongjoong wished it was socially acceptable to just scream loudly out of frustration. Instead he wholly ignored Yunho, standing up and pulling Wooyoung with him. He quickly hurried out of the practice room as Wooyoung was quietly gushing about Yunho while simultaneously laughing. It was one of Wooyoung’s many useless talents: laughing and talking at the same time and still making sense.

“He’s cute,” Hongjoong heard Jongho say in a teasing manner. “Who is he?”

“We used to go to the same high school.” Yunho answered

“Is he single?”

“Don’t you have a crush already?” Yunho asked in return.

“I have decided I no longer have a crush. He sent me a link on _Facebook_ to help him with his virtual farm…”

Yunho laughed loudly. 

It sounded… so delightful. It made Hongjoong want to laugh along. Yunho laughed with his entire being, no restrictions; no fears that someone would find it obnoxious or annoying. Hongjoong had a feeling Yunho did everything in that manner, passionately and without holding back. He hated him a little, but mostly he envied him a whole lot.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Yunho said, snorting.

“Fuck off,” Jongho hissed.

Once they were out on the warm streets of Seoul, Wooyoung didn’t waste much time before he started to question Hongjoong, pulling cute faces to get him to talk.

“You and Jeong Yunho, huh? What is the relationship between you two?” 

“None. Didn’t you hear me. I said I didn’t know him.”

Wooyoung pulled a very impressively unimpressed face. “I know you, hyung,” he insisted. “So, spill.” 

Hongjoong groaned. “It’s embarrassing,” he finally confessed. Of course this admission only made Wooyoung the more curious.

“Please tell me. I will literally _die_ if you don’t.”

Hongjoong let out a long sigh, but he ended up talking, “We used to go to the same high school. I might have had a little bit of a crush on him back then. He is in my summer class. I didn’t recognize him at first until he, uh, pointed it out. I was really embarrassed.” 

“Oh, my god,” was the first thing he said after a few seconds of processing silence. “Your high school crush was Jeong Yunho? That’s so—adorable!”

Hongjoong glared at him. “What’s the deal with him anyway? Why is he _the_ Jeong Yunho?”

“Oh, he is known for having modeled a bit and participating in a bigger dance competition in his first year. He won, of course. I guess he is a bit of a celebrity on campus.”

Hongjoong hummed, looking back at the dance academy.

“It suits him. He practice dancing a lot in high school,” he said, remembering having spied on Yunho on more than one occasion when Hongjoong was meant to fill out his class president duties but instead, every day, got lost on his way back so he could peek into the empty classroom, where Yunho had pushed all chairs apart so he could dance freely. It had been a breathtaking view.

Hongjoong flushed, feeling embarrassed by his past self.

They sat down by their favorite spot in the restaurant and Wooyoung told the staff they would be taking their usual order. The group settled into a comfortable retelling of their days, bantering back and forth.

“I know I only started working there a month ago, but I am so tempted to leave,” San was in the midst of saying. “I _will_ break someone’s neck.”

“Please don’t,” Wooyoung begged. “You’re too sexy to be breaking necks.”

San rolled his eyes. Yeosang and Hongjoong scrunched up their noses. Seonghwa just smiled a little confusedly and awkwardly, still getting accustomed to their inner jokes.

Hongjoong was about to put a checkmark behind this day, that this was how his second encounter with Yunho came to an end, but by the time they were half done with their food the door of the restaurant opened. The bell above jingling.

Hongjoong froze, chopsticks mid air, his mouth open.

“Good evening! I ordered like, uh, half an hour ago through the phone,” Yunho said, his voice strangely soft. It didn’t fit him, Hongjoong thought, not at all. The staff asked something that was too quiet for Hongjoong to hear. “Number 22, I think.”

As Yunho waited he let his gaze travel around the restaurant. Hongjoong quickly ducked his head. His glasses slipped off his nose at the brusque movement and landed in his noodle broth. He made a choked sound, desperation and fear telling him to keep his head low, curiosity tugging at him to lift his head up. 

He did neither of the two. He lifted his glasses and quickly dried them. 

“Are you okay?” San asked curiously, but his voice was concerned.

“Shh, quiet,” Hongjoong hissed at him.

Wooyoung sighs dramatically, pushing his black hair out of his face, shaking his head so it fell gracefully around his face. “Can we have like one _normal_ family dinner?”

“Family dinner?” Seonghwa echoed, confused.

San didn’t say anything, but he did angle his body in front of Hongjoong, giving him time to readjust his glasses and undo his mess. 

“I got you,” he whispered. “He didn’t see you, hyung,” he added once Hongjoong was sitting like a normal person again, without broth droplets all over his face and clothes. 

“Thanks.”

“What was that about?” Wooyoung asked, but he then saw Yunho and his eyes lit up like fireworks in the night sky, and he grinned so wide that Hongjoong feared he might split his face in two. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Hongjoong told him, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“ _I see_ ,” Wooyoung insisted.

“I also want to know what that was about,” San added quietly. “I mean: Jeong Yunho comes in and you panic like you have just seen your ex…”

Hongjoong glowered at him as Wooyoung snorted in surprise, choking on his drink.

Thankfully Yunho left soon enough without there being a chance for anything dramatic to develop. Hongjoong breathed out a sigh of relief, sinking into the chair, and dropped his chopsticks into the bowl. He was done.

“Is it always like this with you guys?” Seonghwa asked no one in particular.

“Oh, hyung,” San mumbled.

* * *

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, securely holding his messenger bag and his phone, trying not to get strangled by his headphones. He was late for the summer class, rushing through the mostly empty corridors. On the stairs up to his class stood a wet floor sign and with a groan he turned around, quickly making way for the elevator.

He scurried through the doors, panting loudly once he was inside. He went to press the button for the third floor, someone else’s hand brushing against his. 

He flinched, turning around. 

Jeong Yunho stood there, leaning against the mirror covered walls of the elevator. His eyebrows shoot up, hiding beneath his strawberry blonde hair.

“Hongjoong-ssi?”

He smiled, a bit in distress, as he pressed the button since Yunho seemed frozen. Then he leaned against the elevator’s wall as well.

“Hi.”

“Late too?” Yunho asked.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’, smiling a bit awkwardly at Yunho.

Yunho smiled back.

Were elevators always so tiny? 

He stiffened, pressing himself further into the mirrors. He had started to notice the fresh, minty scent that seemed to cling to Yunho. He noticed the crinkles by Yunho’s eyes, that didn’t seem to leave as quickly as the smile on his lips, like the mirth held onto him for a while.

He didn’t like that, the fact that he noticed. 

He didn’t like the fact that he was still so aware of the many little details surrounding Yunho. Usually Hongjoong wouldn’t mind being this conscious of another person, but usually when he studied people he didn’t get that tightness in his abdomen or the tingles on his arms and neck. With Yunho it seemed so much more than just studying him and the quirks he had. It always had been about so much more. 

“How have you been?” Yunho asked then.

 _Oh, god._ “Good.” Hongjoong shrugged, self conscious as he sneaked a peek of himself in the mirror behind Yunho, his blue hair was disheveled, his cheeks dusted with pink, and the way he was holding himself screamed uncomfortableness. He hoped the reality wasn’t as raw as it appeared in the mirror. “How… are you?” he added, not wanting to come off as a complete dick.

“Pretty good.” Yunho smiled. 

They fell back into awkward silence.

 _Elevators should be bigger_ , he concluded when it finally stopped on the third floor and he stepped outside. They quickly made their way over to their classroom. Before they could enter, Yunho softly took hold of Hongjoong’s wrist to stop him.

“Hyung, wait,” he muttered, it was strangely quiet and soft. Not in tune with the bright lights in the corridor.

Hongjoong gave him a curious gaze, tilting his head. “What is it?”

“Do you want to hang out later?” Yunho looked so hopeful. “You said last time—You said we could get coffee together.”

Hongjoong pressed his lips together. “Okay.”

Yunho’s grin was so wide, and contagious. Hongjoong’s heart fluttered.

 _Oh, no_.

* * *

Yunho fumbled with his phone.

After the coffee date with Hongjoong a couple of days ago, in which they had reconnected, they had exchanged numbers. So far Hongjoong hadn’t called or messaged him, neither had Yunho, but he was growing restless. He really wanted to reach out. What was there to lose?

He searched through his contacts until he found Hongjoong’s number. He hesitated for a split second, catastrophic scenarios flooding his mind, but before he could even begin to overthink this he pressed the call button.

Hongjoong picked up after the third ring.

“Hello.” His voice sounded different through the phone, and a little breathless, mid laugh.

“Hey,” Yunho breathed, completely frozen on the sidewalk. 

“Yunho.”

“Hongjoong hyung,” he returned, not sure where to begin—not sure what he even wanted out of this call.

“What do you—Is there something you need?”

“No? Not really. I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up? Do something. You know, like—”

“Uh, sorry,” Hongjoong interrupted him. “I’m with Wooyoung, Yeosang, San, and Seonghwa right now. We’re, uh, pregaming. You can join us though?” he added the last bit as an afterthought, like he wasn’t quite sure if Yunho would actually be invited, if he even would _want_ to be invited.

“I would love to!” Yunho rushed, overly eager. This was, after all, the reason why he had just left his friends, because of this inexplicable urge to see Hongjoong. Maybe it didn’t need to make sense. Maybe this was how making friends worked in the early twenties, something without sense or reasoning.

“Uh, okay?” Hongjoong let out a strange chuckle. Yunho felt his cheeks heat up slightly. “Do you know where Yeosang and San live?”

“No. I’ll need the address.”

“Cool. I’ll text it to you,” Hongjoong said. There was a loud yet muffled voice coming from the other side of the line. Hongjoong laughed heartily. It was weird hearing his laughter so close, but unconsciously Yunho pressed the phone nearer to his ear. “San says you should bring booze if you’re going to crash our party.”

“I—Sure. I’ll bring some beers and snacks.”

“Excellent. See you—” There was a shuffling sound, it was loud and horrible, and Yunho moved the phone away. “You’re an angel, Yunho-ssi!” yelled a very excited—and clearly drunk—San.

Yunho huffed out a laugh. “No problem.”

Hongjoong hummed, it sounded like he was embarrassed. “So… See you in a few?”

“Definitely,” Yunho promised.

An hour later he stood in front of the apartment block. He shook himself before he rang the doorbell for Yeosang and San’s shared flat. He was immediately buzzed in.

Yunho was welcomed warmly, quickly pulled in, he barely had time to kick off his shoes and wrestle out of his jacket, before he was thrown in the general direction of the living room. Wooyoung grabbed his forearm and urged him to sit down on the couch next to him. 

Wooyoung’s cheeks were red, his eyes twinkling, and he was laughing loudly. San hadn’t even realized that Yunho had arrived, he was busy dancing by himself with his eyes closed to some English song Yunho hadn’t heard before. It had a strangely haunting and synthetic melody— _the truth runs wild_ , the musician sang.

Hongjoong was sat on the floor, next to Yeosang and Seonghwa. He smiled welcomingly at Yunho. He couldn’t quite categorize it. It was friendly, of course, but there was a glint in his eyes, as if he was sharing a secret with Yunho through that smile, but Yunho didn’t know what that secret was.

Wooyoung slapped his own knees then, jerking up. “You know what we should play?” he wondered into the round. He was grinning calculatingly—maybe he was not as drunk as Yunho had believed. 

“If he says spin the bottle—” Yeosang muttered under his breath, his face blanching.

“Spin the bottle!” Wooyoung exclaimed, getting San’s attention.

San looked at Yunho with surprise. “Oh? You’re here!”

“Thank you for having me over,” Yunho said, bowing his head slightly. He fumbled with the beer can. He was way too sober for this. 

“Come on, let’s play spin the bottle,” Wooyoung repeated, his tone edging on whining.

“Hahaha! Are you crazy?” Yeosang hissed.

“I don't see why not,” Seonghwa said, shrugging. He was leaning back, propped up on his hands, a lazy smile on his face as he studied Yeosang. “Unless someone here is uncomfortable kissing their friends…”

“ _Pshaw_.” Yeosang waved his hand in the air, but his cheeks were growing into a bright shade of pink.

“I’m in!” San said, grinning mischievously at the group. 

“Yunho-ssi?” Wooyoung questioned, inclining his head towards him. He had his eyebrows raised and his lips were pulled into a peculiar smile.

Yunho twisted his hands together. 

“I have no problem with that,” he finally answered, his heartbeat loud in his ears. 

“Really? Interesting.” Wooyoung’s smile didn’t waver, he simply shook his hair out of his face, tugging it behind his ears. 

“I’ll get an empty bottle,” San announced, rushing into the kitchen.

He came back like a tornado, dropping down to the floor, putting an empty cola bottle in front of him. He beckoned Wooyoung and Yunho over, to the living room floor.

“I’ll go first since this is my place,” San said.

“Your place? That’s cute. Who's the one that paid for your rent for—”

San rolled his eyes, handing Yeosang the bottle. “Fine, then you can start.”

“W—Wait,” Yeosang stuttered, but he did take the bottle. He placed it in the middle, his hands were shaking slightly, and then he spun in. It landed on Wooyoung. “ _Ew_.”

Wooyoung just smiled, like he was watching a cute animal taking its first steps and failing. He patted his lap. “Come here, Yeosang,” he said sickly sweet.

Yunho wasn’t sure what he did expect from playing spin the bottle with them. Yeosang and Wooyoung seem like the kind of people who would run the extra mile, just because they could; what he didn’t expect was the short, chaste peck Wooyoung gave Yeosang, patting his head afterwards, and Yeosang rubbing his lips like he just had kissed a frog and not Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung was the next to spin and it landed on Yunho.

He let out a low chuckle.

Before Yunho could even ask if he should go over to Wooyoung, the other leaned forward. He stopped centimeters from Yunho’s face, waiting for him to close the distance. Unconsciously Yunho grabbed his ankle tightly as he surged forward to kiss Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung giggled. “That was nice.”

And just like that the game progressed in the same way they progressively became drunker. They took breaks to talk, goof around, and tell funny stories until someone remembered they were playing and then that someone spun the bottle. 

(Yunho wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved that he never ended up kissing Hongjoong.)

It was close to midnight when Wooyoung suddenly shot up. “Guys!” he called out, showing his phone screen. “We should leave or we will be late.”

“Shit,” San whined.

“Late?” Yunho echoed.

“A friend has a drag show he invited us to," Hongjoong explained, getting up. He helped Wooyoung carry the empty beer cans and snack bags to the kitchen, as Yeosang and San pushed the table back in front of the couch.

Seonghwa and Yunho stood awkwardly, watching.

“Can I come along?” Yunho asked then.

Wooyoung eyed him curiously. “Have you ever been to a gay club? Or a drag show?” he inquired.

Yunho shook his head. “No.”

“I mean, I don’t see why not,” said San. “First time for everything, right?”

Yunho shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable?” Hongjoong asked him, quietly.

“Why should I?”

Hongjoong searched his face. “Well, you’re straight, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he affirmed. “That doesn’t mean I would feel uncomfortable in a gay club.”

Hongjoong pressed his lips together, biting his bottom lip. He seemed to consider this. “I guess. Sorry. From experience, straight guys usually avoid gay clubs like it’s a plague.”

“They’re assholes.”

“It’s settled then. We’re taking you to your first gay club _and_ drag show,” Wooyoung decided.

The drive to the club took about twenty minutes. There was a big crowd gathered in front of the establishment, they were dressed from very summery and light outfits, to jeans and leather jackets, to fake fur coats over shorts and crop tops. Yunho had seen glimpses into the diverse fashion through Mingi, as he tended to experiment quite a lot, but being there in person and witnessing it with his own eyes was entirely different. It was entertaining and interesting, and he wondered if he would ever feel brave enough to pull some of these off. 

(Maybe if Jongho were to dress him.)

He let himself be dragged by Wooyoung to the entrance of the club, where they got inside pretty easily. The doorman just nodded his head at them in acknowledgement, smiling faintly as he watched them go. 

He hadn’t talked much with Hongjoong throughout the night, not as much as he wished they could have. He wasn’t sure if Hongjoong was avoiding him or if he was imagining things. 

Hongjoong latched himself onto San’s arm, pushing him forward through the tight crowd inside the club. Yunho pondered for a split second before he linked his arm with Hongjoong’s. 

Hongjoong looked at him, startled.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Yunho explained, gesturing at the crowd. Hongjoong nodded his head, tightening his arm around Yunho’s.

They walked deeper into the club. Yunho took in the red walls with the many, many posters and pictures and strange, over the top decoration, but somehow it all looked in place and had a certain aesthetic value to it. There was a TV screen portraying the schedule of the bar, but once in a while a promotional video would start playing; and there were a lot of shirtless guys, a lot of naked asses—there was a lot of nakedness _over all_. 

People started cheering loudly then, some wolf whistled, and then a queen walked onto stage. She surveyed the crowd with an arrogant tilt of her head. 

“ _Welcome, my lovelies_ ,” she said in English, slowly, and took in the reaction her simple words caused.

And then a show with colors and glamour and self expression started. It was unlike anything Yunho had ever seen and he was in love with it.

It was well past two in the morning when Hongjoong stumbled out of the club together with Yunho and his friends. They all agree to scoop the area for a fast food restaurant to eat something before they all parted ways.

Hongjoong watched his friends all around Yunho, like moths drawn to a light, enabling him and joking around with him. It made Hongjoong feel all warm on the inside, seeing his friends get along with Yunho. It felt important to him.

Yunho, who had his head slightly tilted to the side, caught Hongjoong’s eyes on him and gave a small smile. Hongjoong allowed himself to smile back.

When they got to McDonald’s, San and Wooyoung fighting over what kind of fries they should be getting, Yeosang and Seonghwa standing back and talking quietly to one another, Hongjoong felt suddenly overwhelmed. His ears were ringing and his mind was loud. 

He excused himself with a string of mumbled words, walking to the small park outside. He sat on a bench and stared up at the dark sky through the trees’s canopies. A cool summer breeze whirled through his blue hair, and he couldn’t help closing his eyes to let it grace him. 

They were precious, late night summer breezes. 

Something cool touched his face minutes later and he startled, blinking rapidly to adjust his blurry gaze on the figure that had approached him.

“Fancy one?” Yunho offered him a cool drink and Hongjoong took it, scooting to the side so that they didn’t sit too closely. But when Yunho let himself fall down onto the bench, he ended up sitting close to Hongjoong anyway, their knees brushing together.

Hongjoong clicked the can open, the fizzing of the drink filled the night and their silence for a moment. 

“Aren’t you getting something to eat?” Hongjoong asked him then.

“Nah.” Yunho shook his head. “I’m not that hungry. What about you?”

“I think I’ll just empty Wooyoung’s snack cabinet.”

Yunho chuckled at that.

They fell back into comfortable silence, just that summer breeze around them, their knees touching, and Hongjoong’s steady heartbeat loud in his own ears. He realized in that moment that he could very easily crush on Yunho again.

* * *

“So, what did I miss?” Mingi asked once he was comfortably sitting on their couch, his legs propped up, a bowl of popcorn on his lap. He looked relaxed and well rested.

Yunho settled down next to him, playing the movie they had decided on watching, but knowing them they wouldn’t pay much attention to it. Jongho was in his room, brooding for some reason.

“A lot,” Yunho said and told his friend all about meeting Hongjoong again in the summer class and its upcoming project, all about them bonding again after not having seen each other for so many years. “What about you? You barely texted me back.”

Mingi looked guilty, pressing his lips together. “Sorry about that. My family still struggles to really accept me…”

Yunho pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Mingi shrugged, but the hurt was obvious on his face. “My parents fought in secret, thinking I wouldn’t hear them,” he revealed then, biting the inside of his cheek. He let out an empty laugh. Yunho scooted closer to him, putting a reassuring hand on his knee. “You know, they’ve been kind of supportive the past years. And when they moved back to the farm and allowed me to stay here I was so excited… It hurts to hear what they secretly think of me.”

“I'm sorry,” Yunho repeated. He wanted to hug Mingi, but he stayed where he was. If Mingi wanted a hug he’d ask for it. 

“And they—they thought you’d ‘straighten’ me out. They thought…” He shook his head, breaking off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m back now. It was nice being at the farm, breathing in the fresh countryside air. It helped with my anxiety.”

“That’s good. That’s really good,” Yunho said, offering a small smile which Mingi returned. “You know you always have a home at my mom’s. She adores you endlessly.”

“I know, but…” he trailed off, knowing that he didn’t have to formulate his frustrations and pain for Yunho to understand, after all Yunho had been there through the whole process. From when Mingi first had come out to now— _he had been there_. “Anyway,” Mingi changed his tone, it was lighter, and a grin formed on his face. “Tell me more about Kim Hongjoong. What is he like now?”

Yunho rubbed the patch of skin between his brows with his index and middle fingers, thinking. “He is very sarcastic. A bit mean, but not horribly. You can tell he is joking. He is nothing from what I remember. He used to be so quiet, so…” he trailed off. “He used to be so unapproachable, but when we met again in class he was different.”

Mingi hummed, thoughtfully. “You two don’t really seem like the kind of people who’d get along,” he said, giving Yunho a peculiar look.

“We don’t either and look at us,” Yunho pointed out.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mingi agreed. An easy grin started to spread out on his face. “Do you have his number? He is cute, from what I remember.”

Usually Yunho wouldn’t mind aiding Mingi in a hook up, but for some reason it rubbed him in the wrong way. He could see Mingi and Hongjoong getting along, their personalities matched together well, _but_ it made his skin crawl to imagine Hongjoong falling in love with Mingi. 

His heartbeat picked up and there was a rush in his ears, nearly deafening, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.

He swallowed and stared blankly at Mingi, unsure how to formulate his thoughts. 

“Yunho?”

“Sorry, I—I’m not sure he would appreciate me giving out his number to a stranger,” he settled for saying and Mingi shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. 

Yunho let out a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay?” Mingi asked.

“Yes,” Yunho lied—they both knew it was a lie. “I just have a lot on my mind lately.”

“Do you want to share?”

Yunho stayed quiet. 

He wondered if this was the right time to bring his thoughts up, what he had been questioning lately, the new perspective he had obtained. It was so anticlimactic. It was as though he had read an interesting article on Wikipedia that he had been holding onto for so long, waiting for someone to ask a question regarding this topic and Yunho could finally reveal that he had known the answer all along, only for it to be brushed aside as a conversational topic that ended up being forgotten by the next sentence. 

But this was Mingi. Song Mingi. His best friend since forever. He was probably the one person that would _get it_. That would take him seriously and not question his words. Maybe there never was a right time to say this, there was no luxurious way to formulate this and make it a grand and beautiful moment. Maybe it was been romanticized and twisted in the media, and the reality was quiet and fearful.

Because that was all Yunho noticed, how quiet it suddenly had become in the flat, and how loud his fear was. 

He knew Mingi wouldn’t shame him or tell him it was disgusting, but it meant acknowledging a new side to Yunho, for himself and those around him. It meant that his future might look—would look—differently. And that alone was terrifying.

But this was Mingi, and there was no one better to confess this to.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Yunho started, his hands trembling as was his voice. “Maybe—I think there is a chance I’ve always—No, I don’t know. I just—It’s been running through my mind lately and I can’t keep ignoring it because it doesn’t seem fair.” He took in a deep and shaky breath. Mingi took his hands, gently rubbing his thumbs over Yunho’s knuckles. “I don’t think I’m straight," he finally admitted. It was so paper thin, or at least that was what he felt like, but in the quietude it probably sounded so loud. 

He had learned that when truth was revealed, it was always loud, no matter how quietly it was spoken.

Mingi didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept Yunho’s hands in his, searching him. Yunho stared back at his best friend. A part of him wanted to look away, hide himself, but he knew there was no need to hide from Mingi. 

Then Mingi removed one of his hands and slowly let it rest on the nape of Yunho’s neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads were together. Emotions were running through his eyes, they vanished the moment Mingi’s eyelids fluttered close, tears sliding down his cheeks, but Yunho could still _feel it all_. 

He closed his own eyes, the burning in them was so incredibly relieving. He let the tears fall freely. His heart hammered in his chest and he was still shaking, but it was the relief that was now coursing through him.

They remained like that, with their foreheads pressed together, tears rolling down their cheeks for a while. 

It was comforting and reassuring, and it took Yunho back to when they had been fifteen or so. When Yunho had been crushing on Mingi and had been hyping himself up to spill his feelings, but as soon as the confession had left his mouth Mingi had broken into tears, hidden his face and self from Yunho, as shame had consumed him.

With a quiet and soft voice—at the time it had been quiet and soft, so much more than it was now, too scared to use it and hating the sound of it—shaking badly, he had said, “If I told you the truth about myself you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

Yunho had asked him what he meant and Mingi had inhaled and exhaled, staying quiet for a _very_ long time. Yunho had thought that he wouldn’t answer, but then Mingi had come out of his hiding and faced him. Unshed tears swimming in his brown eyes, a terrified look on his face—Yunho had never seen fear like that in someone before. 

The words Mingi had spoken had changed their lives forever.

“I’m not a girl,” Mingi had told him. “I’m not—I know I look like one, but I’m not. I’m a boy, Yunho. Do you understand?”

Yunho hadn’t really understood. He had sat there, dumbfounded. 

Mingi had sensed his lack of knowledge and with a still shaking and quiet—always quiet—voice he had repeated with urgency, “I’m a _boy_ , not a girl.”

Yunho had frowned, still not quite understanding.

What he had understood, though, was that Mingi had been terrified and that it hadn’t been an easy thing for him to confess. Yunho hadn’t wanted his best friend to think that he would turn his back on him because of this, so he had reached out his hand, positioning it on the nape of Mingi’s neck, and pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. Mingi had begun to cry then, his eyes falling shut. Yunho had closed his eyes, too, and tears had fallen, feeling his friend’s pain and fear as if they had been his own.

“I will always be by your side,” Mingi said—Yunho had said back then. 

“Thank you,” Yunho breathed—Mingi had breathed out back then. 

After that it was really simple. 

They settled comfortably on the couch and watched the movie, of which they had missed the first half, but it didn’t matter. At some point Jongho joined them, grabbing the blanket they were sharing to cover his legs too. Of course Jongho noticed their red eyes and the remnants of tears on their cheeks, but he didn’t inquire about it, just gave them a reassuring smile—the Jongho trademark smile that made everything right in the world.

When midnight came, Mingi was fast asleep on the couch, and Yunho was in the kitchen doing the dishes, Jongho was searching their cabinets for a midnight snack, but it was clear something was on his mind that he was dying to ask Yunho but didn’t know how so he was stalling.

“Jongho,” Yunho took the initiative. “There is something I’d like to tell you.”

Jongho looked up from where he was crouching, he pulled out an old bag of chips and ripped it open, nodding his head to indicate he was listening.

“I—” Yunho began, thinking he was going to say the same he told Mingi, but somehow those words wouldn’t come to him again, so instead he chose what felt the most right on his tongue. “I think I might be bisexual?” 

It still sounded like a question, but he had time to figure it out.

Jongho got up, put the chips on the kitchen counter, and simply hugged Yunho. “Thank you for telling me, hyung.” And then, because he was a cheeky little shit, he added, “Has this anything to do with Hongjoong hyung, by any chance?”

Yunho shoved him playfully. “Shut up!”

Jongho, much to Yunho’s surprise, squealed. Jongho wasn’t the squealing kind of person, too cool for it. “Oh, my god, hyung”

“Don’t make this weird.”

Jongho sobered up. “Sorry. It’s just very exciting. I still remember my first crush on a boy. Oh, when you get to kiss your first man…” He swooned.

“First of all, I’m older than you, second of all, I have kissed men before,” he pointed out.

“But it will be different now,” he insisted. “It’s so—so _liberating_!”

Yunho simply hummed. He did imagine, though, in the back of his mind, what it would be like to kiss Hongjoong. What would his lips be like? Soft or maybe chapped? Did he like to bite, or have someone bite his lips? Did he enjoy tugging someone’s hair to take control and angle their face—?

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Jongho accused him, pointing his index finger in Yunho’s direction. Yunho innocently shook his head. “I can see right through you, hyung! Your ears are pink! _Gross_!”

Yunho rolled his eyes, a freeing laugh escaping his body.

“Shut up!”

* * *

The first time he saw Hongjoong after his realization was about a week after telling Mingi and Jongho. He found himself invited to San’s birthday party. It was a small gathering in his shared flat.

Yunho showed up with Jongho and Mingi, the latter didn’t really know Hongjoong’s friends, but San had said he could come— _the more the merrier_ , had been his words. 

To Yunho’s surprise the party consisted of San’s roommate plus Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa. For some reason he had expected San to be an incredibly social person with many friends. Another thing that surprised him was that they ended up playing Uno while drinking and eating snacks. It wasn’t really the birthday party he pictured someone in their early twenties to throw. 

“Oh, Wooyoung,” San was saying, shaking his head in pity. He threw down a +4 card, smirking when Wooyoung let out the most inhumane and loud whine Yunho had ever heard from someone. 

San seemed delighted.

“Fuck you. This is war!” Wooyoung announced as he took the four cards, now holding five. “No longer Uno.” He pouted; it was comically sad.

Hongjoong patted Wooyoung’s knee in sympathy before he drew a card. “You still can win,” he told him.

When it was Yunho’s turn, he put down a color choosing card. “Yellow,” he chose, grinning when everyone cursed at him. 

“You did that on purpose you asshole,” Hongjoong hissed from next to him, picking up a card. “No longer Uno,” he mimicked Wooyoung.

“Hey!” Wooyoung protested, leaning forward to do god knows what, but Seonghwa and San pulled him back. He blew his fringe out of his face, glaring at Hongjoong. “You’re all teaming up against me.”

“You’re just noticing now?” Yeosang quipped, happily, and put down his last card. “I won.”

“Did he even say Uno?” Mingi wondered out loud, squinting his eyes suspiciously.

“I did,” Yeosang shot back, challenging.

“Pretty sure you didn’t,” Wooyoung countered, still sad that he had almost won.

“He did,” Jongho defended Yeosang.

“Does anyone else find it super suspicious that so far only Yeosang and Jongho have won?” Seonghwa asked no one in particular.

Yeosang laughed. He exchanged a mischievous glance with Jongho.

“Cheaters,” San muttered under his breath.

Minutes later San made the dramatic discovery that they had run out of booze.

“I might have been slightly underprepared,” San admitted.

“I’ll go get more,” Hongjoong offered, standing up. He dusted off his jeans. “Anything else?”

“Can you bring candy?” Mingi asked. “I’m craving candy.”

“I would kill for a watermelon,” Seonghwa added.

“Uh, I’ll see what I can do.” Hongjoong grinned, his eyes crinkled up so easily and his teeth peeked over his pink lips. 

Yunho quickly looked away. His chest burnt a little.

Yunho kept playing with the loose thread of his sock, twirling it around his index finger. Should he—?

“Someone should help Hongjoong hyung,” Yeosang said, looking at the lot with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I’ll go!” Yunho offered quickly before anyone else could.

Yunho caught Mingi grinning at him so he bumped his shoulder into his, telling him with an urgent look to _shut up_. Mingi just shrugged, but he didn’t tease him further.

The night proved to be pretty cold and Yunho snuggled into his hoodie, pulling up the hood to cover his ears. Hongjoong looked dejected, he was only in a sweater. They walked in silence to the nearest store, which thankfully wasn’t that far. Yunho wanted to talk to Hongjoong, but for some reason he couldn’t find any words; it was as if his brain was completely wiped and there was only a buzzing noise. 

Hongjoong didn’t seem to mind, though, he just smiled at him whenever he caught Yunho looking at him. And Yunho smiled back.

He was so used to filling the silence with anecdotes that he completely forgot that sometimes words weren’t needed.

“What kind of candy does Mingi like?” Hongjoong asked once they were standing in front of numerous shelves filled with candy.

Yunho hummed. His eyes caught onto those wormed shaped gummies that he vaguely remembered Mingi eating at a Halloween party once. He grabbed two packages and threw them inside their cart. 

“Is there anything you want?” Hongjoong suddenly asked him. “My treat,” he added when Yunho was hesitating.

“Oh, uh…” Yunho glanced around, his gaze falling onto a brand of cookies he used to eat with his dad whenever they would go to the beach. 

He sucked in his bottom lip, a sudden ache filling his chest.

Hongjoong noticed the sudden change in his mood. “What’s wrong?” he inquired.

“Nothing.” Yunho shook his head. “You don’t need to get me anything. I’m good.”

“Okay.” Hongjoong was still eyeing him worriedly. “You can go ahead, I’ll get something for Yeosang and then pay.”

Yunho nodded, appreciating the gesture. The air in the store was getting stuffy and he was feeling that familiar stinginess in his lower back, where all his anxiety seemed to pool when he thought of his dad. He now welcomed the cold, summer breeze, and inhaled deeply until his lungs burned. 

Hongjoong joined him about five minutes later, smiling warmly at him. He handed him one of the grocery bags. Their fingers brushed together and Yunho almost jerked his hand away. With the memory of his dad suddenly filling his mind, he felt overly vulnerable and self conscious of his beating heart.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Hongjoong asked again after a while. 

“Yeah.” Yunho shot Hongjoong an insincere grin. “I’m fine, hyung.”

Hongjoong didn’t look away. He stopped walking and so did Yunho, Hongjoong’s eyes suddenly had him pinned to the spot, exposed.

“I know we aren’t that close, yet, but you can trust me, Yunho. We’re friends, after all.”

“It’s just a stupid memory,” Yunho revealed to him, brushing it off. “No need to worry.”

“When someone says that, it makes me worry even more…” Hongjoong nibbled on his bottom lip, concern in his eyes as he kept looking up at Yunho. “And it’s not stupid. If it makes you feel like this, it’s not stupid, Yunho.”

Hongjoong reached up his free hand, it hovered in the air for a split second, as he hesitated, and then he squeezed Yunho’s shoulder.

Yunho’s throat tightens, a spider spinning her web and shutting it close. He swallowed, tensing under the touch. Hongjoong quickly removed his hand, as though he had been burned. 

“Let’s hurry before they begin to worry.”

He was already walking away, but Yunho moved without realizing, his hand reaching out through the empty space between them until his fingers closed loosely around Hongjoong’s wrist. His skin was warm and he faintly felt, under his thumb, Hongjoong’s running pulse, rapidly. 

Hongjoong spun around.

“Thank you,” Yunho said, quietly. 

Maybe it was only a second that passed, but their gazes were entangled and it seemed a bit too dangerous, like _anything could happen._ Then Yunho slowly let go and Hongjoong’s arm fell to his side, and _again_ there was an empty space between them.

When they were back in San and Yeosang’s flat and were unpacking the groceries, Yunho came in contact with the pack of cookies he had eyed earlier. His hand shook when he took it out. He looked up at where Hongjoong was, in the midst of handing out beer cans for everyone, and for a moment his brain stopped working. His ears felt hot and his heart beat so loudly and quickly it should be concerning. He swallowed and put the cookies back into the grocery bag. 

He was terrified. 

He didn’t know what it meant. 

Did he want it to mean anything?

* * *

When September came and university started with its regular schedule, the summer class Yunho and Hongjoong shared was coming to an end. Their professor stood in the front of the classroom, his hair slightly unkept.

“There are three classes left, which means you need to pair up in groups of two to four for the project. It will be handed in towards late November, the 20th,” their professor was explaining, pointing his finger at the powerpoint. “It consists of making a song mixing together a beat and any instruments you would want to use. You can also add voices if you’d like, but it is not required. It can be purely instrumental.”

Yunho turned his face towards Hongjoong, already smiling.

“Do you want to pair up with me for the project?”

Hongjoong didn’t need to think twice about it, he nodded his head.

“Nice,” Yunho said. 

The rest of the class passed by in a rush, Yunho taking notes vigorously while Hongjoong listened to their professor mostly, typing down keywords in his computer that he would later expand on.

Once their class was over, they arranged to meet in two hours by the university’s gate to head over to a studio not that far from campus that could be rented hourly to bounce ideas and begin working on the project. Yunho said something to Hongjoong about getting his electric guitar in case they might need it. Hongjoong waved him off, walking off to his next class.

Two hours later, Hongjoong wasn’t surprised to find Yunho already waiting on him by the university’s entrance, his hands shoved into his jeans’s pockets, his shoulders drawn up to protect himself against the sudden cold wind blowing through the streets. His hair was tucked underneath a washed out, black beanie, some strawberry blonde strands peeking out. His guitar case standing on the floor next to him.

Once he potted Hongjoong, he quickly waved at him, to make sure Hongjoong didn’t miss him. Hongjoong didn’t think Yunho was someone that was easily overlooked, on one hand because of his height, on the other hand, well, he was _really_ _pretty_.

Yunho suddenly picked up his bag, opened the zipper, and retrieved a small can. He handed it Hongjoong.

“I got you something,” he said.

It was one of those generic brand iced coffees from the grocery stores.

Hongjoong took it gingerly. He hated them, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Yunho that. Not when Yunho looked so smug about it, so happy about it—just so incredibly overjoyed to have a present to give Hongjoong.

“Thanks,” he said, shaking the drink. “I don’t have anything for you though.” Yunho shook his hand in dismissal. “I’ll get you something the next time…”

“I didn’t get you this to receive something in return,” Yunho told him.

Hongjoong blushed bright in embarrassment. Was it that easy to see through him?

He chose not to say anything, jerking his chin in the direction of the bus station, and he began walking, Yunho trailing after him.

“How were your classes?” Yunho asked then. "Had a good start? I can’t imagine what it must be like studying Music Production. What do you even do? Produce tracks in class?”

Hongjoong shot him an amused look and then began explaining the content of his classes to Yunho. He wasn’t even sure _why_ he was enabling him or if Yunho was genuinely interested, but by the way he was eagerly listening, nodding his head along, he must have been. Hongjoong decided it was nice, this kind of undivided attention. 

Wooyoung once had said to him, sometimes good people just came into our lives, no motives attached. Hongjoong wanted to believe it, that Yunho just wanted to be his friend. But Hongjoong had met straight, interested guys before. He had met them and they had broken him. He couldn’t help the wariness, the walls, the knee jerk reaction to be rude towards Yunho and push him far, far away. 

For today, he supposed, he would follow Wooyoung’s advice: he would allow Yunho to just be there with him.

In the studio they took Hongjoong’s favorite recording room, in the far end of the building, by the end of the corridor, standing near the vending machines and close to the bathrooms. Another thing he liked about that specific room was the small window that gave view onto the street outside.

Hongjoong turned on the computer, gesturing at Yunho to hand him the slip of paper they had gotten with the password and username—which changed every day. After preparing the program and getting out their notes, they sat in silence staring blankly at the computer’s screen.

“So… What do we do?” Yunho asked.

Hongjoong looked away from the screen to Yunho. “I don’t know.”

“I did write down some ideas in class,” Yunho spoke up, his fingers playing with his notebook nervously. Upon Hongjoong’s encouraging gesture, he pushed it forward and opened it at a page that seemed random, but Hongjoong realized Yunho must have known exactly which page it was. “I was thinking of doing a guitar duet. We could use electric guitars and mix some sounds and beats… Sometimes electric guitars sound like a voice, I was thinking we could try to mimic that.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hongjoong leaned over to the computer, clicking away. He began working on a very basic beat. “You could try to play something to it.” He turned to look at Yunho.

“Uh, sure.” Yunho fumbled with the guitar case, drawing out a black electric guitar. He tuned it, a concentrated look on his face. Once he deemed it done, he sat back, settling into the seat, and positioned his fingers on the strums. “Play the beat.”

At first it didn’t go smoothly at all and Hongjoong wondered if it wasn’t a good idea after all, but then Yunho began stringing together chords that matched the beat, holding his fingers to the strings to elongate the notes.

Without even trying, Hongjoong found himself mesmerized by him. 

Yunho with his electric guitar, his head lowered and focused on his finger, only raising it to shoot nervous smiles at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong couldn’t take his eyes off him. He allowed himself—because he was realizing this was a train he couldn’t hop off anymore—to study Yunho. His eyebrows pulled along to the different chords he played. Mostly, though, Hongjoong ended up being captivated by Yunho’s mouth, the slight upwards tilt in their corners that made him look like he was constantly smiling. They were parted, pulled into an easy grin.

Hongjoong’s heart made a couple of troublesome jumps and he looked away from Yunho’s lips, up to his eyes, and was horrified to see that Yunho was looking straight at him—had caught him looking at his lips. Instead of the perhaps grossed out reaction or even neutral one, Hongjoong was met with an intense gaze instead. Yunho didn’t seem to mind Hongjoong’s eyes on him.

And, _oh_ , Hongjoong had played this game before, he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t do it again, but he couldn’t help the voice in his mind that said, _maybe this time around it would be different._

There was always that _maybe_ , that shimmer of hope.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, leaned back until his head touched the back of the seat, kept gazing at Yunho, offering the guitarist the tiniest smirk—a lazy tug of the corners of his lips—and again looked down at Yunho's lips. 

( _It’s free real estate_ , Wooyoung’s voice echoed somewhere in the back of his mind.)

It didn’t have the desired effect. Yunho’s fingers stumbled over the strings and a terrible noise filled the studio.

Yunho blushed bright red. Hongjoong didn’t even think that was possible. 

“Um,” Yunho said. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay…” Hongjoong told him, also clearing his throat. “That sounded pretty good.”

“It would sound better with an amplifier of course. I’ll bring it the next time.” Yunho tapped his chin. “Let’s work on a melody and a better beat, shall we?”

Hongjoong nodded eagerly, his fingers already itching to get them on the mouse and keyboard, sounds exploding his mind. He leaned forward again, his shoulder brushing against Yunho’s. 

They both flinched and moved apart. The awkwardness thick in the air.

“Sorry,” Hongjoong muttered.

“It’s okay,” Yunho told him. “Do you want to try?” he asked then, jerking his chin at the electric guitar.

Hongjoong swallowed, looking down at his fingers. The cusps weren’t calloused as they once had been. He hadn’t touched a guitar in a while.

“Next time,” he said. “For now I’ll use the program.”

“I have a spare guitar I can lend you next time.” 

“Cool.” Hongjoong felt like he was digging his own grave. Why couldn’t he just tell Yunho that he had forgotten how to play the guitar?

The answer came quickly: he wanted to impress Yunho.

Once their time in the studio was up, they walked back to the bus station. The sun was slowly setting behind tall skyscrapers, reflecting off the many windows. Hongjoong caught Yunho more than once biting his nails nervously, he was strangely quiet and jerky. 

Hongjoong believed he might have caused that earlier when he shamelessly checked him out, possibly making Yunho feel uncomfortably, so he bumped his shoulder into Yunho’s, gaining his attention. Yunho looked down at him, removing his index finger from his mouth, and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong asked him while they were standing at a red light.

Yunho took a moment to answer. “I’m okay. Sorry for making you worry, hyung.”

Hongjoong gave him a smile, an honest one. Yunho slowly smiled back at him.

Then the light switched to green and they crossed the road.

* * *

Cobwebs with fake spiders, bright plastic pumpkins, fake bats with tired wings, and, thankfully not human sized, plastic skeletons decorated their university a few days before Halloween. 

Naturally Yunho loved Halloween, he got to eat candy and he got to dress up funnily, he got to drink with his friends and hit up some club or private party. Mingi and Jongho always turned those nights into unforgettable stories. But Yunho didn’t really look forward to that year’s Halloween experience.

It was an unspoken agreement that he would go out with his friends, they didn’t even need to make plans, but Yunho had overheard Hongjoong make plans—plans that he had been invited to.

In the end Yunho split his night into pregaming with Mingi and Jongho in Yunho and Jongho’s flat, and when midnight struck he met up with Hongjoong and his friends. He was already moderately drunk when he got to them. 

He found them relatively quickly since Wooyoung was loudly singing along to the DJ, dancing in short steps, flailing his arms around as he simultaneously tried not to spill his cocktail; and San had created himself a little dance floor, a circle of people around him that was cheering him on and once in a while someone dared to challenge him into a dance battle, but San won every time. 

Yunho wondered just how drunk they were, and that he himself wasn’t _drunk enough_. A couple of minutes later he had gotten himself two shots, which he downed back to back, and a beer. When he reunited with his friends, Yeosang had joined Wooyoung. Seonghwa and Hongjoong looked a lot more hesitant to let go of control like that, moving awkwardly to the music as they scanned the crowd, laughing any time one of their friends did something dumb or embarrassing.

Usually Yunho would be the one doing the dumb thing, enabled by Mingi while Jongho tried to damage control or just watched it all go down from the sidelines. But Yunho couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy this, standing pressed to Hongjoong, calmly drinking his beer. Sometimes they would point out an interesting or daring costume. 

Seonghwa kept shooting them thumbs up and thumbs down in question, checking up on their well being, as if as the oldest he had to look after them. 

At some point an upbeat song came on and Hongjoong let out a quiet gasp, his eyes lighting up when he faced Yunho. Without a word, Hongjoong pressed his beer into Seonghwa’s hand and pulled Yunho with him towards the dance floor.

“I love this song!” he exclaimed.

“Oh,” was all Yunho could say before Hongjoong started dancing to it, holding Yunho’s free hand. 

He was smiling so exceptionally, awakening a flutter in Yunho’s abdomen. 

The different lights of the club kept hushing over Hongjoong’s face, dipping it in different tones and shadows, playing with his expressions and the twinkles in his eyes. Yunho was trying his best to mimic his dance movements, to be steady on his feet and not stumble over anything because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from Hongjoong’s face like a fool—stunned. 

He tried so hard not to let this affect him.

He tried not to focus on the warmth of Hongjoong’s hand, the press of his fingers on the back of his own hand; he tried to disregard the drumming of his heart, that got louder and louder any time Hongjoong stepped too close into his personal space… But it got so hard, especially with the alcohol coursing through his veins and his mind getting dizzier by the second, his vision tunneled on the young man in front of him, everything else becoming a blur. 

Yunho knew from the moment he had bumped Hongjoong again there had been a curiosity in him about the other. One he thought would have died down with time, but Hongjoong was so different from high school, and just as magnetic and mysterious and interesting. And now that Yunho had learned something new about himself—that he wasn’t straight, at all—that curiosity was shifting into something else. It was morphing into sweaty palms, a loud heartbeat, a tightness and flutter in his abdomen, a burn in his lungs—into _attraction_.

The song came to an end and changed into a new song with a dirty bass and something sensual and alluring, and suddenly someone bumped into Hongjoong, making him stumble forward and into Yunho’s arms.

Time slowed down.

Hongjoong was quick to unlatch his hand from Yunho’s so he could hold onto his bicep, the other hand clinging to his waist. Yunho nearly let go of his beer, his free hand circling around Hongjoong’s shoulder to steady him somehow. But the damage had been done: Hongjoong was pressed against him. They were almost chest to chest. 

Hongjoong looked up at Yunho then, an apologetic smile hushing over his face until it changed. Yunho couldn’t do anything aside from staring down at him and feeling every inch of his body tense up. The places where Hongjoong’s hands were on him burnt brightly. 

Yunho blinked.

Time slowed down.

He only then began to notice the makeup around Hongjoong’s eyes, making them look deeper and darker and so incredibly dangerous. He noticed traces of lipstick on his lips, most of it has been left on bottles and glasses, but some still stuck on them and it made them look so inviting—so much pinker than usual. He realized, with a burning flame in his heart, that Hongjoong was wearing a short sleeved crop top; if Yunho moved his hand down a bit he would touch the skin on his shoulders, if he moved his hand down to his body he would touch the skin on his waist and once there, if he were to trail up his hand, he could touch—

His train of thoughts was abruptly stopped when Hongjoong’s hands tightened, the fire only growing, and his eyes never left Yunho’s, rendering him immobile. 

Yunho always tried to make those around him feel comfortable, analyzing his own movements and if they were welcomed or not, and he had tried so hard to keep his distance from Hongjoong since Hongjoong never seemed to show much comfort in being touched or having a clingy Yunho hanging from his arms. 

But Hongjoong wasn’t moving away right then, if anything he was swaying closer and closer to Yunho, as if an invisible thread was pulling them towards one another. And he couldn’t ignore the hands on him; he couldn’t ignore the flicker in Hongjoong’s eyes when they moved down to his lips, which Yunho was quick to mimic (he wouldn’t mind staring at Hongjoong’s lips for hours).

Time slowed down.

Yunho’s thoughts froze at the same time as he did; in the back of his mind he sort of hoped Hongjoong wouldn’t kiss him because he didn’t know if he would be able to kiss him back. He was at such a loss, control slipping out of his hand like sand through the gaps between his fingers. 

Hongjoong leaned forward, slightly standing on his toes, and Yunho could only watch, but Hongjoong’s eyes were lowered, not fixated on his lips anymore. The world stopped spinning—time slowing down—the people around them stopped moving, the music faded out, and all Yunho could focus on was Hongjoong in his arms, touching him, pressed against his chest. 

There was no space in between them anymore. 

If Yunho was sober he would probably be able to feel Hongjoong’s heartbeat next to his. Their hearts side by side. 

Yunho’s stomach dropped, swooped up, an explosion of butterflies and tingles. He couldn’t help the moment his eyes fluttered shut and the shivering exhale that escaped his mouth. His hand tightened on Hongjoong’s shoulder, needing something to hold on to as the floor beneath his feet disappeared, his knees nearly buckling. 

Hongjoong was kissing him—or more accurately, kissing his neck. It was open mouthed and wet and his lips felt burning hot. It sent shivers down Yunho’s spine, it drove him crazy, and left him breathless. He felt the familiar heat pool in his lower abdomen. 

He always had had a thing for people kissing his neck, to feel the slide of lips on his sensitive skin, he was exceptionally vulnerable there, and it caused waves of pleasure to spark through his entire body. It was frustrating as much as it was deliciously enjoyable. The burning and the need, the desperation and the want for more, more, more. 

_More_.

More of Hongjoong’s lips on his neck—he wouldn’t mind if he were to bite him, to nibble on the oversensitive skin there, leave marks. 

More of Hongjoong’s body pressed against his.

 _Closer_.

Now that he was categorizing what this felt like he couldn’t help the string of thoughts that followed, his imagination going wildly free. He wondered what it would be like if their shirt layers were thinner, or they weren’t wearing shirts at all and he could feel that steady warmth on his own skin. To feel the trail of Hongjoong’s fingers brush over his abdomen, up his torso, delicately caress his chest and nipples. He imagined Hongjoong was someone that loved to take his time, explore all the possibilities and not leave any inch out of the reach of his exploring hands.

He regretted wearing these jeans, it wasn’t that they were the tightest he had ever worn, but he was getting hard and it was driving him insane that he couldn’t do anything about it or that Hongjoong didn’t seem to realize, too preoccupied with keeping his lips on Yunho’s neck. 

Another shuddering exhale left his mouth, it was edging on a low groan, and by god, he hoped Hongjoong didn’t hear it. Probably not since they were in a club that played very loud music. 

Maybe the universe took pity on him or maybe it decided to curse him, but another person bumped into Hongjoong, making them stumble both, and Hongjoong’s leg bumped against Yunho’s dick, which caused both white flashes to spark behind his eyelids and a wave of pain. 

Hongjoong unlatched himself from Yunho, stepping back as far as he could. Yunho opened his eyes then and the first thing he saw was Hongjoong staring up at him with wide eyes, his cheeks flushed, and his lips shiny; the bit of lipstick that was still on them was slightly smeared. It was undeniably hot. 

The sudden movement had caused part of Yunho’s beer to slosh over his hand, so he ducked his head, mumbling out an excuse.

“Sorry. Bathroom. Need to clean my hand,” he said, showing Hongjoong the mishap, who just nodded his head dumbfounded, still staring at Yunho with wide eyes.

The one stall in the bathroom was occupied, and three people were standing in line for it, so Yunho had to really just wash his hands. He did splash some cold water onto his face too, not caring that he was messing up the skeleton makeup Jongho had spent hours applying on him.

He didn’t look too shaken. His strawberry blonde hair was slightly messed up due to the dampness in the club, his pupils were dilated, and he knew that beneath the black and white his cheeks were pink. He still could feel the flush all over his body.

Someone bumped their shoulder into his and he startled, looking to his side.

Yeosang stood there, a smirk etched onto his lips.

“Uh-oh,” he began, mockingly, “seems like someone will go to horny jail.” He pointedly glanced down at the outline of Yunho’s dick.

“Shut up,” he hissed, shoving Yeosang’s shoulder. His heart was still beating so quickly.

Yeosang grinned. “Don’t worry. This is not unusual for this kind of party. Everyone gets a boner here. Don’t sweat it.” He patted Yunho’s shoulder. “Maybe you should take a break outside. Some of that cold air would help.”

“Yeah, I—I’ll do that,” Yunho stuttered, nodding his head slowly, and fled the scene to leave Yeosang to do whatever it was he had come to do in the bathroom.

When Yunho lay himself to bed that night—after checking up on Jongho and Mingi, who were cuddling on the couch, the Netflix menu on the TV screen, the dimmed light of the kitchenette making them look soft and homely—he thought of waves. 

As a child Yunho would travel to the beach with his parents quite frequently during the summer and Yunho would play in the sea for hours to no end, it was as if he was meant to be in the water, and when they would get back home, and Yunho was lying in his bed, ready to fall asleep, he would still feel the motion of the waves brushing up and down his body, he would still smell the so familiar scent of the sea and hear the seagulls caw loudly. And because he loved it so dearly the sea would carry him into his sleep.

It was a lot how he felt that night: Hongjoong was sticking to him. His presence still on his skin and in his mind, and he accompanied Yunho deep into his dreams.

The morning following Halloween was loud and hectic in the JonghoYunho household. There was a loud yell and lots of talking, and cursing, and whining.

Yunho fluttered his eyes open to a headache and an annoying but not insistent boner. He groaned, cocooning himself into the blanket further as cold air filtered through his opened window. His hair must have stood up in all directions and he knew there were remnants of the skeleton makeup around his eyes. Nonetheless he got out of his bed ten minutes later to see what all the ruckus was about.

He walked into the living room, blanket around his shoulders like a cape. He was only in sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, he was shivering. 

He was greeted by Mingi and Jongho crouching over a small table, the one that stood next to their couch, next to it the vase that usually stood on top and had rotational flowers—that Mingi made sure to change once a week—was on the floor, the carpet drenched in water and the tulips Mingi had bought some days ago lay in a sad formation.

“Um,” Yunho mumbles, intelligently. 

Mingi startled, looking up at him. “Oh, Yunho. We, uh, have a situation here.”

“I can see that.” He walked closer and peeked over Mingi’s shoulder. “What happened?”

At first none of them replied, their heads turned in different directions as if they refused to look at one another.

“It’s a long story,” Jongho finally replied, his lips pressed together. “But we need a new table.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Mingi muttered, standing up. He brushed invisible dust off his pajama pants. He still refused to look at Jongho.

Yunho wondered if perhaps something had happened between them.

“I can get one,” Yunho offered tentatively. He should probably give them time to talk out whatever had happened. “I was supposed to meet, er,” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward, “meet Hongjoong hyung later today anyway. For our project.”

Mingi shot him a very telling look, but he didn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Jongho mumbled, standing up as well. “Thank you, hyung.” He rushed into their bathroom.

“What happened?” Yunho asked despite his better judgement.

Mingi made a vague gesture with his hand that Yunho couldn’t interpret at all.

It was midday when Yunho met Hongjoong at the biggest Ikea in town. He was glad that Hongjoong hadn’t really questioned his request much, just agreed to meet him at Ikea before they headed to the studio for their project, claiming he needed some kitchen utensils anyway. 

It was awkward seeing Hongjoong because of what had happened the night before. And well, Yunho, despite having taken a long and thoughtful shower, still looked very much dead and terrible. Hongjoong on the other hand looked dashing. He wore some light brown pants and a white sweater on top, his blue hair silky and smelling of soap. He looked like the typical protagonist in a drama, polished and well mannered and heart achingly beautiful. 

Yunho felt inappropriate standing next to him with his padded coat and the beanie over his messy hair.

“Aren’t you hot?” Hongjoong asked when they were inside Ikea, walking up the stairs to the first floor. He has his gray winter coat neatly folded over his arm.

“Uh,” Yunho lets out, intelligently. “We had a bit of an emergency this morning and I didn’t really pay attention when I got dressed, rushing to get out of the flat,” he explained.

Hongjoong hummed, his eyes falling somewhere on Yunho’s neck, and a blush formed on his cheeks.

“I see,” he said, then frowned. “This is awkward.”

“It is,” Yunho agreed. “Sorry,” he apologized.

Hongjoong startled, looking at him.“What? No, no—Don’t apologize. This is your fault as much as it is mine.” He laughed awkwardly, clearing his throat.

Thankfully they got immersed in the Ikea experience of trailing through some very detailed and dreamy bedrooms and living rooms and kitchens, and some others that weren’t as great and looked rather disastrous.

“Do you ever want to steal one of the CDs or books?” Hongjoong suddenly asked.

“What?” Yunho looked up in confusion. He was checking out a small, rectangular table with a name he couldn’t pronounce, but it was similar to the one that had broken.

Hongjoong pointed his finger at a shelf full of CDs and books. “Like… I see some classics there that I haven’t read, yet, and I get this urge to just _take them_.”

“I’m pretty sure those are fake.” Yunho laughed.

Hongjoong smiled, shrugging. 

After Yunho successfully found a table to replace their old one, they moved to the bottom floor where utensils and garden decor could be found, marveling over all the useless stuff Ikea had. It was fun and Yunho found himself laughing freely, discovering once again a new side to Hongjoong. Someone playful and dorky; nothing like that intimidating and kind of ethereal looking high school student he had been—untouchable, unapproachable. So far away from Yunho’s reality.

They checked out, both satisfied with their purchases, and Yunho eyed the poster of the famous hotdogs lingeringly. 

“Are you hungry?” Hongjoong asked. “My treat,” he added.

“Really?”

“Yes. Come on, let’s go.” He grabbed Yunho’s wrist and dragged him towards the restaurant installed by the exit of Ikea. He belatedly realized what he was doing and quickly let go of Yunho’s wrist, scratching his neck instead.

They awkwardly smiled at each other, briefly, before their gazes drifted apart once again. 

Yunho noticed the tightness in his chest, the invisible breeze running up and down his arms and spine, making the airs on his neck stand up. But above everything else he noticed the voice in his mind—it wasn’t really a voice, but he didn’t know how to categorize this—that seemed to chant Hongjoong’s name over and over again, and Yunho had a hard time keeping his eyes away from Hongjoong.

It was this all encompassing force within him that was holding onto Hongjoong for dear life. 

As he had promised, Hongjoong paid for their hotdogs and drinks, and Yunho carried the trays over to an empty table in the seating area. It was quiet as they enjoyed their meals, something so simple and yet it didn’t taste as good anywhere else—or maybe Yunho was a little biased due to his Ikea adventures with Jongho when they first had gotten the flat and had indulged themselves.

Hongjoong kept smiling whenever Yunho looked at him, naturally Yunho smiled back. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but there was a tension between them.

“Is everything okay?” Hongjoong wondered at some point, the straw of his cola resting on his bottom lip, and Yunho was forced to look at them. At Hongjoong’s lips. 

He bit the inside of his cheek. “What do you mean, hyung?”

“You have been jiggling your leg non stop… Is it about the emergency this morning?”

Yunho stopped jiggling his leg, which he hadn’t even realized he was doing. 

“Uh, sure,” he lied. 

“What happened, if I may ask?” Hongjoong’s voice was hesitant.

“I think my friends fought—or something.”

“Oh…” Was all Hongjoong responded to that. “That’s not great.”

Yunho stared at him for a moment until he decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hyung,” he started. Hongjoong raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, “Are we okay?”

This didn’t seem to be the question that Hongjoong expected as his whole face morphed into surprise and then his eyes flashed with something unguarded. 

“What do you mean?”

“A—After last night,” Yunho stuttered out, wringing his hands together under the table. “When we, uh—you know? Like, are we okay?”

Hongjoong stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled, but it didn’t seem too sincere. “Sure. We are okay.”

“Okay,” Yunho echoed. The tension felt thicker, almost unbearable. 

Despite the awkwardness and tension, their conversation kept flowing. This time into safe and comfortable topics: their classes, their hobbies outside of music. They graced the surface of their childhoods and families, but Yunho did a splendid job to dodge that one and Hongjoong caught on quickly, moving past the topic. They talked about their dreams after university, and Yunho learnt that Hongjoong wanted to become a music teacher if becoming a producer would fail him.

“It suits you. Being a teacher,” Yunho told him, imagining Hongjoong in a cardigan and those silly, thin framed glasses while standing in front of a classroom full of eager students.

Hongjoong smiled, his dazzling eyes seemed brighter then. “You think so?”

“Yes, you have a way with words.”

Hongjoong tilted his head, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smile at that or not.

“It’s a compliment!” Yunho reassured him. “I swear!”

“What about you then? What does your future hold?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Yunho said honestly. “As much as I like music, it’s only an extra class I’m taking this year. Mingi and I always had plans to open up an art gallery, since we’re both into it.”

“You paint?”

“Occasionally. I’m more into digital art, playing around with photoshop and graphics,” he explained. “Mingi is the one with the brushes and canvas. And the origami.”

“What about dance? I remember you danced in high school.”

Yunho shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like a substantial career…” 

“Ah… Well. I hope your plans with Mingi work out,” he said genuinely. “He does seem artistic.”

Then, because Yunho was incredibly stupid and he just couldn’t get it out of his mind, he asked, “Are you interested in him, hyung? In Mingi?” He remembered Mingi asking for Hongjoong’s number. His skin again prickled uncomfortably, not liking the idea of Hongjoong falling in love with Mingi.

Hongjoong gave him a weirded out look. Yunho chastised himself for asking, that had been so unnecessary. 

What if Hongjoong said yes?

But he needed to know. Once and for all.

Hongjoong’s right eye twitched. “No,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

Yunho shrugged. 

“Yunho.”

He groaned, hiding his face. “He asked for your number.”

Hongjoong blinked in surprise. “He asked for my number?”

Yunho nodded mutely. 

Hongjoong smiled peculiarly. “As cute as he is, I’m not interested.”

“Are you interested in someone?” Yunho questioned because he was _dumb_.

Once again Hongjoong gave him a weirded out look. Then he smirked slightly, like it was a game. It wasn’t a game to Yunho. He felt as if suddenly a lot was on the plate. “Why do you ask?”

“N—No reason,” Yunho stammered. And then, just for good measure, he shrugged again, hoping Hongjoong would let it go. Thankfully he did.

It was palpable how the atmosphere changed once then, the unsure pull of his lips and the shimmer in his eyes. Yunho waited patiently, pretending he didn’t notice the sudden shift.

“Is there—Is there someone _you’re_ interested in?”

Hongjoong’s voice was quiet, as if he was ashamed of asking.

Yunho’s heartbeat quickened, but he held Hongjoong’s questioning look. If his cheeks warmed up, he strongly ignored it and tried to subside it by tightly holding his fingers under the table, slightly hurting himself. 

“No?”

Hongjoong raised his eyebrows, detecting his uncertain tone.

“No,” Yunho responded more decidedly.

“Oh, okay. That’s good.” Hongjoong’s eyes widened fractionally. “I mean, it’s whatever.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Hongjoong waited for Yunho at the university’s gate to meet up for their project, frowning when he realized Yunho was already ten minutes late. He belatedly remembered he had turned his mobile data off and quickly, with fumbling fingers, he turned it back on. An incoming string of texts warned him that Yunho had run into complications and would come over to Hongjoong’s apartment for their music project. 

Hongjoong blanched under the streetlamp.

“Oh no,” he breathed, remembering that Wooyoung and him hadn’t cleaned their apartment in a few days and that Hongjoong definitely had a mountain of laundry that was very desperately due. He also remembered that Wooyoung didn’t work that afternoon, meaning he would be in the flat. Maybe with company since Hongjoong wasn’t supposed to be there. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he groaned, running a distressed hand through his hair. He turned around on his heels, dashing through the university to the opposite exit where his bus stop lied at.

Half an hour later he burst through the front door of his apartment, stumbling over his feet as he tried to kick off his shoes and speak to his flatmate at the same time.

“Wooyoung!” he nearly shrieked.

“Hyung!” Came Wooyoung’s voice seconds later, alarmed and confused. His head peeked out from the kitchen, his hair was wet and he wore a face mask. “What is it?”

“We’ve got an emergency!” Hongjoong fretted, taking off his coat and hanging it messily. He placed his school bag onto the couch, taking in the mildly messy state of their apartment. “ _Fuck_!” he exclaimed again.

“Hyung. Calm down. What’s the emergency?”

“Yunho is coming over in like half an hour because we’re working on a project together. And I was overly confident, but the truth is I have never played on an electric guitar before in my life and I—” His ramble came to an abrupt stop as he inhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging.

Wooyoung was watching him with wide, amused eyes. “Yunho is coming over?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong whined. 

“That’s your emergency?” Wooyoung inquired, drying his hands on a kitchen cloth. Hongjoong could see that he was holding back from laughing loudly, keeping a straight face through the sheet mask.

“Yes,” Hongjoong repeated. He stared at Wooyoung, blinked, and let out another whine. “Oh god, is he even going to fit in here?” He marched over to Wooyoung, glancing up at their low ceiling. “Oh no,” he mumbled. 

“Hyung, what the—” But all Wooyoung could do was watch Hongjoong’s breakdown unravel in front of his eyes. 

Hongjoong searched their kitchen cabinet dedicated to miscellaneous items they didn’t know where to put elsewhere in the flat. His fingers graced over birthday candles, confetti, loose screws and two screwdrivers they probably never had used, until he finally found the measuring tape. He yanked it out, letting out a whoop as he shoved it in Wooyoung’s face.

“I don’t understand,” Wooyoung said simply, pulling off the mask slowly. His eyes and lips were twitching like he couldn’t quite settle between amusement and worry. “Do I need to call Seonghwa hyung?”

“No!” Hongjoong almost yelled, he held back in the last second.

“Okay.”

“Just stand there and—do whatever you were doing,” Hongjoong advised him, untangling the measuring tape. 

“You do realize he can just duck his head…” Wooyoung said, catching on quickly with what Hongjoong’s intentions were.

Hongjoong halted, the measuring tape pressed to the wall, his index finger hovering at the 185cm mark. 

He stared wordlessly at Wooyoung.

“No, he can’t. Yunho’s a giant.”

“Sure.”

There was a strange silence between them. Hongjoong looked up. 

“He’s going to bump his head on the cabinets,” he concluded then with a defeated tone. “I’ll tell him he shouldn’t come over.”

“Hyung!” Wooyoung protested. Hongjoong made a desperate sound in the back of his throat. “I’m inclined to believe this has to do with something else,” the younger continued, taking the tape out of Hongjoong’s listless fingers. He put it back to where it belonged. “Yeosang might have mentioned something interesting.”

Hongjoong froze, feeling hot and cold at the same time. He turned his eyes onto Wooyoung. “He didn’t.”

“He did indeed.” Wooyoung was starting to grin, but it was still hesitant, unsure if this was something he was allowed to make fun of or not. “He said something about you sucking Yunho’s neck like Edward did to Jacob.”

“Excuse me,” Hongjoong deadpanned, too befuddled to continue. “You mean Bella, not Jacob.”

“Wait, Twilight is _not_ gay?” Wooyoung questioned, looking affronted, momentarily forgetting that he was teasing Hongjoong. “Did Yeosang _lie to me_?”

“It’s not—” Hongjoong shook his head. “That’s beside the point. And for your information, there was no neck sucking, there was neck kissing—” He paled then as Wooyoung got a very frustrating _gotcha_ look on his face. 

Hongjoong just groaned miserably.

“Yeosang was right then. I didn’t believe him. Holy shit, hyung!”

“Wooyoung, I’m begging you. Don’t make it weird tonight. We settled on ignoring that.”

His flatmate rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”

“Can’t you go over to San’s and, I don’t know, indulge him in whatever strange obsession he has decided to focus on for this week?”

“Cats with glowing eyes.”

“What?”

“San’s obsession.”

“Is he okay?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to go over and discover that,” he said and Hongjoong was already relaxing slightly, but of course it wasn’t that easy. “But then I would miss you being an utter mess while trying to impress Yunho. San wouldn’t forgive me either.”

 _Of course_ , Hongjoong thought. “Wooyoung. You mentioned you wanted that—”

Wooyoung gasped. “You’re trying to buy me?”

“Shut up.” 

Hongjoong flinched when his phone started vibrating loudly. His heart jumped high in his chest, beating loudly and violently, and he exhaled loudly, fishing out his phone. It was Yunho.

_It was Yunho._

“Hi,” Hongjoong greeted, turning away from Wooyoung.

“Hello.” Yunho sounded a little breathless. “I’m now in the bus. I’ll be there in ten.”

Hongjoong froze. “Okay. Cool. Great.”

Yunho laughed. Hongjoong could picture his stupid scrunched up nose and the creases by the corners of his eyes, the amused glint that infuriates him so much… 

“Do you want me to bring something—” 

But Hongjoong was hanging up already, giving Wooyoung his phone before he stormed off in distress, trying to clean up as much as he could of their messy flat. Wooyoung stared after him, blinking twice, before he jerked into motion, helping him. He might have been a little shit, but at the end of the day he was one of Hongjoong’s biggest supporters. They managed to make their flat look more or less presentable, there was no time to vacuum, but Wooyoung passed a wet cloth over their kitchen counter while Hongjoong swiped crumbs of bread and a sad piece of onion to the side before he swept them up and threw them away.

“You know, he likes you already. You don’t need to impress him,” Wooyoung spoke up as they sat on the couch, Hongjoong tense and shooting apprehensive glances at their front door.

He flinched at those words. “He doesn’t like me,” he simply stated with a clipped tone.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “He likes you. A whole lot, hyung.”

Hongjoong bit the inside of his cheek, his eyelash fluttering as he looked down at his hands. “What if I—” he began quietly, but the ringing of their doorbell interrupted him, and he exhaled in relief. He had been seconds from saying something really dumb.

“Well, that’s my cue.” Wooyoung stood up, grabbing his phone and keys before he headed out. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hongjoong glared at him, Wooyoung only stuck out his tongue before he knocked on the door next to theirs down the halfway. Hongjoong buzzed Yunho in.

Yeosang opened the door. He looked at them questioningly.

“Hongjoong is sexiling me.”

“About time!”

“I’m not. Yunho is coming over to—You know what, I don’t have the time. Just disappear.” He shoved Wooyoung into Yeosang, closing the door hastily. Seconds later he heard heavy footsteps approaching and he tried to make himself look cool, leaning against the door’s frame, his arms crossed in front of his chest, as he waited for Yunho to appear.

The tall man was dressed for once not in sweatpants, instead he was wearing tight fitted jeans and a dark red button up, the top two buttons undone, a thick leather jacket finishing his look. His strawberry blonde hair was, much to Hongjoong’s horror, not strawberry blonde anymore: it was midnight black and swooped away from his forehead. He had a guitar case in one hand and a heavy looking plastic bag in the other.

For a second Hongjoong was at a loss for words. He swallowed thickly, vaguely returning the friendly smile and wave Yunho shot him. 

“I got us food,” was the first thing Yunho said after entering Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s flat, holding up the plastic bag with a grin.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, besides I haven’t eaten yet.”

Hongjoong was still kind of frozen, standing near Yunho as he was taking off his jacket and shoes, staring at him in a, most likely, creepy manner, but he couldn’t help himself. Yunho with black hair was different: a whole lot hotter and mature. 

Hongjoong never had painted in his life, but he wouldn’t mind starting now, immortalizing the way Yunho looked right then on a canvas. He could study him shamelessly. The slope of his nose; the pull of his brows when he was concentrated on something, and the crinkles on his forehead that gave him this incredibly condescending and hot look. It was infuriating. Hongjoong didn’t know much about color mixing, but he would sacrifice hours to get the right shade of red for those stupid and stupidly shaped lips… Or maybe Hongjoong could get into photography and ask Yunho to model for him, he would fill up SD-card after SD-card with pictures of him, in every angle possible, with all the different lightings in the world.

Hongjoong wouldn’t get tired of Yunho’s beauty.

“Is there something on my face?” Yunho squeaked out suddenly, rubbing his cheek in embarrassment. His ears were pink and he looked incredibly embarrassed.

“You dyed your hair,” Hongjoong pointed out the obvious.

Yunho moved his hand away from his cheek to tug at a loose strand of his hair. His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile, but was thrown off by Hongjoong’s strange behavior.

“Yes. Do you not like it?”

 _Shit_. 

“No, no, it looks good,” Hongjoong reassured him, shrugging in what he hoped was a very nonchalant way, but knowing himself it probably was stiff. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

Yunho broke out into a smile and ducked his head. He looked really cute; it was killing Hongjoong. “Thank you, hyung.”

Yunho walked around the flat, taking in the furniture and decoration. He met Hongjoong’s nervous glance and fidgeting fingers, and gave him a smile, putting down his guitar near the table in the living room.

He held up his grocery bag. “Where do I put this?”

“Ah, I’ll take care of it.” Hongjoong took it and moved to store it in the fridge, pushing Wooyoung’s various pre-made protein shakes aside. Recently he had gotten into working out with Jongho, but Hongjoong couldn’t really see him doing it for long. Wooyoung was not a very consistent person. 

Yunho had taken it upon himself to make himself feel comfortable, sitting by the table as he took out an electric guitar, it wasn’t the black one he had used in the studio, this one is black and white, and looked less fancy. He was in the middle of tuning it and Hongjoong creepily watched him from the kitchen.

When Yunho deemed the guitar to be tuned he lifted his head, holding the guitar’s neck towards Hongjoong.

“Show me what you got,” he said. It sounded challenging, like he knew Hongjoong had been lying.

Hongjoong loved proving people wrong, but this time around he feared he was going to greatly embarrass himself. 

He took the chair next to Yunho, taking the guitar out of his grasp. He crossed his legs and placed the guitar on his knee, positioning his fingers on the strings. They were thinner than on his guitar, sharper. He took in a deep breath and began strumming; it was awkward and not very fluid. He abruptly stopped and looked up. 

Yunho was staring at him blankly.

Hongjoong was aware he just made a massive fool out of himself. 

“Sorry.”

“I don’t understand.”

It was hard to tell if Yunho was disappointed or not.

“I have never played on an electric guitar before, and,” he inhaled deeply, keeping his eyes locked with Yunho’s, “it’s been a year since I last played guitar properly,” he admitted quietly, feeling ashamed, and lowered his eyes.

Yunho was silent for a while, then, with a huff, his fingers came in contact with Hongjoong’s, gently adjusting them on the strings. Hongjoong almost flinched away.

“Just try again,” Yunho told him, a delicate frown between his brows.

“No, I—I think you should look for someone else. I’m sorry I lied to you,” he apologized, shame filling him.

Yunho let out a sigh, running a hand through his black hair. “We already started the outline for the project and everything, hyung. There’s no one else I—” He cleared his throat. “I was counting on _you_ ,” he added with intent. “I’ll just help you, and with some solo practice you should be fine.”

Hongjoong bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t deserve this kindness. He had been terribly rude towards Yunho, that push and pull that he couldn’t seem to ever fix—that had pushed so many of his past lovers away. But Yunho didn’t seem to want to give up on him, for whatever reason.

Hongjoong felt terrible.

“I’m sorry.”

Yunho sighed again. “Just try again.”

And so, Hongjoong did. 

He placed his fingers on the unfamiliar strings and strummed out a few chords, Yunho’s scrutinizing gaze never leaving him, but it didn’t affect him as much as before. Yunho wouldn’t scold him, even if Hongjoong perhaps deserved it for being such a frustrating human to work with.

At some point Yunho moved his chair so that he could sit next to Hongjoong, his fingers reaching out from time to time to adjust Hongjoong’s, and each time it made the skin on Hongjoong’s back prickle, his fingers yearning to press against Yunho’s, entangle them and never let go, and his cheeks heated up. 

It was maddening, to go from hot to cold in such short and quick spans.

However, Hongjoong did his best to actually learn something here, ignoring his stupid attraction towards Yunho.

Around two hours later, Yunho leaned back into his chair, his right arm encircling the back of Hongjoong’s chair, his thumb brushing against Hongjoong’s exposed neck. It made him sit stiffly, terrified of leaning back. 

He put the guitar on the table, stretching out. 

“How about we eat that food you brought?” Hongjoong asked, turning around to face Yunho.

The younger man smiled eagerly. “You read my thoughts.”

“I’ll heat it up.”

Of course Yunho followed him into the kitchen, trailing after him and asking if he could help with anything. (He ducked slightly, nearly ramming his head into the cabinet hanging over him.) Hongjoong reassured him it was fine, but after the third time, he finally caved and showed Yunho where their plates and cutlery were so he could set the table. Yunho obliged happily.

They were in the middle of dinner when Yunho set down his chopsticks, reaching for the soju bottle to refill his and Hongjoong’s glasses. He tilted his head, staring at Hongjoong curiously.

“Why did you lie?”

“What?”

“Why did you agree to do the project with me, agreeing to play the guitar? You could have said you wanted to play a different instrument. You clearly aren’t that good at it, which is okay, I just don’t understand.” He searched Hongjoong’s face. “If you really want to play the guitar, that’s fine with me, but you shouldn’t pressure yourself, hyung. There’s no shame in not being good at something.”

Hongjoong’s hold on the chopsticks tightened so much he was afraid he was going to snap them in half. He let out a hollow laugh.

“I have a sick desire to prove to everyone that I am more than capable of doing things,” he muttered quietly. "I, uh, wanted to impress you. I guess.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

Yunho scooted closer to him, his hands enveloping Hongjoong’s free hand, it was hesitant at first, but once Hongjoong didn’t move away, Yunho got more confident and gently rubbed his thumb over the back of his hand.

“I know I can’t ease that pressure, but you don’t have to excel at everything you do, and you certainly don’t have to _impress me_ , hyung,” he told him with a soft voice. Hongjoong couldn’t look at him, he knew he would start crying. The atmosphere had become so heavy, and loaded with a humming electricity.

There was a rush in Hongjoong’s ears, as if he had pressed an empty seashell against his ear and could hear the supposedly echo of the sea in it.

“ _I know_ ,” Hongjoong hissed miserably and defensively. He knew, he really did, but more often than not it was hard to keep that in mind. He already had so many daily reminders to function as a human being that some slithered out of his mind. “I know,” he repeated, quieter, to himself.

Yunho still was holding his hand. He had moved onto absentmindedly playing with his fingers as he stared off into the distance, thoughtfully. “You’re a striking person, hyung. It’s easy to see that you have endless love for your friends and would run miles for them. I know life isn’t easy, harder for some of us, and—and sometimes it’s worth stopping and looking around us,” he said with a far away voice. “Remember the people around us, those that make us smile and feel comfortable. You’re not—alone.” Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the burning sensation in them. He hated Yunho for making it so easy to affect him, but at the same time he just wanted to reach forward and hug him tightly. “You haven’t left my mind since we met again in June,” Yunho confessed very quietly and suddenly his hands went lax, realizing what he had just said.

Yunho’s eyes widened fractionally but before a stumbled apology could leave his mouth, Hongjoong did what his heart was telling him to.

He reached through the space between them, it was a bit awkward and uncomfortable, the edge of the table digging into his ribcage, and he let both his arms fall around Yunho’s shoulders, drawing him close into a gentle hug.

Yunho tensed at first but was quick to return the hug, settling his arms around Hongjoong’s waist. Hongjoong allowed himself a little more and buried his face into the crook of Yunho’s neck, his eyes shut close, letting that all too familiar scent of shampoo and deodorant spin his mind. Yunho had his cheek pressed into the side of Hongjoong’s head. 

There were words stuck in Hongjoong’s throat that he wasn’t sure where they were coming from, confessions piling up, one more vulnerable than the other, but he did not speak any of them out loud, terrified of ruining this moment, this friendship. He simply enjoyed being held by Yunho again, that familiar warmth and comfort from a time long ago. 

So familiar and so different.

He didn’t end up crying, but he was very close.

He was about to move away when Yunho’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer into the hug, and Hongjoong just let it happen. He felt his heart hammering in his ribcage, but he thought, maybe, there was the possibility that he felt a second, quick, heartbeat coming from Yunho. 

When Yunho finally loosened his grip, letting Hongjoong go, time didn’t make sense anymore. A minute, an hour, all the years they hadn’t been together. 

They avoided each other’s eyes, Hongjoong’s cheeks were bright as a flame that he wanted to hide behind his hands. Hongjoong looked up to find Yunho pink cheeked as well, his eyelashes fluttering a couple of times, a shy look in his eyes. 

Yunho suddenly snorted, giggles spilling out of his mouth. Hongjoong was quick to join him, biting his cheek as he tried not to laugh too loudly.

He shoved Yunho’s shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“You hugged me first,” Yunho shot back, shrugging with one shoulder, and picked up his chopsticks again. Hongjoong noticed his hand was shaking slightly, but he didn’t pay it much attention.

“Shut up,” he hissed, but there was no real heat behind his words.

* * *

For days Hongjoong practiced on the electric guitar Yunho had lent him—he later had brought by an amplifier—until his finger cusps hurt as badly as they had when he first had learned guitar many years ago. Wooyoung kept shooting him worried glances, but he didn’t inquire, just kept reminding Hongjoong to eat and drink. He brought him plates with cut vegetables or fruits and a quiet, “You’re doing great.” Aside from their classes, they met in the studio a couple of times to work on the beat, and Yunho would give Hongjoong tips on how to hold the chords better. 

The afternoon before they were meant to meet for the final recording for the project, Hongjoong and Wooyoung headed over to their friends’s flat. They were doing another gaming night, playing Virus since Seonghwa really liked the game and Yeosang was looking for any excuse to invite him over. 

However, when they entered the flat with their spare key, they were greeted by a chaotic yet not so unusual scene. San and Yeosang were huddled in their small kitchenette, with the radio turned on, their favorite local channel playing, and they were tapping different surfaces of the kitchen counter, hushing one another as they leaned their ears close, listening closely to the tapping.

Seonghwa was chilling on the couch, an amused and relaxed smile on his face.

“Oh, hey.” 

He welcomed Wooyoung and Hongjoong with a wave of his hand.

“What’s going on?” Wooyoung asked, not faced in the slightest, as he dropped a heavy bag with snacks.

“They’re trying to guess this one specific sound. If they get it right the price is 200,000 won,” Seonghwa explained. “They’re convinced it’s a tapping sound.”

Hongjoong raised his eyebrows, too tired to get into it. He simply joined Seonghwa on the couch. “For how long has this been going on?”

“A couple of days,” Seonghwa answered.

Wooyoung whistled loudly, pulling the corners of his mouth down in an impressed expression.

Three faces turned towards him. “Shh,” he got shushed.

“Fuck, sorry.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll get started with shuffling the cards,” Hongjoong said slowly and quietly.

His phone buzzed all of a sudden. He put the Virus cards down and pulled it out. 

> **Jeong Yunho**
> 
> Heyyyy
> 
> ;)
> 
> :)*
> 
> Hi.
> 
> Whatre you up to, hyung?
> 
> aer*
> 
> are*
> 
> At San and Yeosang’s to play a card game.
> 
> Ohh
> 
> Uno?
> 
> No.
> 
> Virus.
> 
> What about you? What are you doing?
> 
> Hanging with friends!
> 
> We’re going out liter
> 
> later* haha
> 
> I am drunk
> 
> I could tell…
> 
> Do you wanna come?

(Hongjoong bit his bottom lip, drawing it in. He glanced at the kitchen scene.)

> Maybe.
> 
> I’ll text you once I know.
> 
> Pleaeeasse
> 
> I’ll buy a drink!!!
> 
> I’ll see.
> 
> Have fun!
> 
> Thank you <3

(Hongjoong’s hands twitched and he nearly dropped his phone.)

> <3 :)

“What are you doing? Your cheeks are red,” Seonghwa wondered as he leaned to the side, trying to peek over Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Hongjoong hissed, shoving his phone back into his jeans. “Are they done?”

“No, but the guessing is over for today. They’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Hongjoong hummed noncommittally as he waited for the rest of their friends to join them. 

Yeosang took the seat next to Seonghwa, who didn’t hesitate to immediately put his arm around the headrest, softly tapping out a random beat on Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Everyone keep your eyes on Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, squinting his eyes. “He pulled some dirty tricks last time.”

“I did nothing of the sorts,” Wooyoung defended himself with an angelic smile, but the twinkle of evil was visible in his eyes. 

“You’re just bad at this game, Yeosang,” added San.

“Am not!”

“You kind of are,” Seonghwa agreed, laughing loudly when Yeosang whipped his head in his direction, glaring at him. “It’s the truth, _babe_.”

Hongjoong raised his eyebrows at the English pet name. Both boys quickly broke their eye contact, flustered, but Seonghwa didn’t move his arm away. He did stop tapping, though, just letting his fingers rest there, on Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Okay,” San interrupted the strange awkwardness. “By the way, I invited Mingi. I hope you guys won’t mind?”

“Not at all,” said Hongjoong.

“Good.”

“This is so tragic,” Wooyoung spoke up then, whining, taking the cards that Hongjoong had started to hand out. “Everyone is getting together with a significant other or getting wooed, while I am left to suffer.”

“I’m not getting together with Mingi, he is—” San defended himself, trailing off.

“Make that two of us,” Hongjoong muttered miserably.

Wooyoung glared at him. “You’re not allowed to complain.”

Hongjoong sputtered, affronted. “ _What_?! Why not?” 

“You have that thing going on with Yunho,” he answered, looking at his cards with a little smile. “Yunho!” He said his name a second time for good measure, glancing up at Hongjoong. “He’s literally one of the hottest guys on campus.”

“We’re not—There’s nothing going on!” he insisted, but by the looks his friends were giving him, none of them believed him. “Shut up,” he finalized, heatedly, hoping that would make them actually shut up.

Wooyoung sighed. He looked at Yeosang, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Come on, _babe_ , it’s your turn.” His mocking tone did not get lost, earning him a soft _whack_ on his shoulder from San.

Yeosang gave him a dirty glare. Seonghwa smiled awkwardly, letting out a quiet, “Ah…”

The game took a turn when Mingi arrived, they all ganged up on Wooyoung, making him lose terribly three times in a row. Yeosang cackled evilly each time, rubbing his hands together.

Hongjoong ended up forgetting all about Yunho and his invitation until the ringing of the doorbell interrupted their gameplay. The six boys exchanged curious and confused glances, until San got up.

“Hello?” 

The response was muffled.

“Oh! Um. Sure.” San sounded surprised. “I’ll buzz you in.” He leaned towards the living room, holding onto the door frame that separated the welcoming hall and the rest of the flat. He held a curious grin, looking straight at Hongjoong. “So. Yunho is joining us.”

Mingi whooped, throwing a lazy thumbs up. He shot Hongjoong a strange kind of grin.

Seonghwa pursed his lips, also looking straight at Hongjoong. “Yunho came here?”

“Yeah.” San shrugged. “He didn’t really elaborate much. He sounded kinda drunk though.”

Hongjoong swallowed, looking steadily at his cards. He knew his friends were looking at him—maybe with the exception of Yeosang, he didn’t care much about gossip. Hongjoong’s cheeks were reddening and that rush in his ears was back.

_Why? Why did Yunho come?_

“Did you know he was going to come?” Wooyoung asked, cocking his head.

“No. He said he was out with friends.” He looked at Mingi. “I thought that entailed you.”

“He has more friends than just me and Jongho,” Mingi said.

“Huh.” A sly smile took over Wooyoung’s face.

“If you suggest we play spin the bottle again,” Hongjoong started, grinding his teeth, “I will literally kill you.”

“You didn’t even get to kiss him last time.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Mingi sat up, eyeing them curiously. 

“Somehow you’ll find a way to cheat and—”

“I don’t think that’s possible, hyung,” interjected Yeosang.

“Oh, really, Yeosang?” Hongjoong snapped his head in his direction. “If I have to kiss Yunho, you have to kiss Seonghwa!” he hissed, angrily. He knew it was childish and petty, but he couldn’t help that so familiar knee jerk reaction to be an utter asshole. 

“I—” Yeosang opened his mouth and closed it again, utterly shocked. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Immediately Hongjoong felt regret and guilt wash over him. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Yeosang.” He felt the heat of all of their gazes on him, a thick tension cutting through the air, San’s playlist sounding loudly. He reached out his hand to take Yeosang’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that or to be harsh.” He glanced at Seonghwa. “I’m sorry to you too.”

Seonghwa shrugged.

“He’s here,” San’s conspiratory voice interrupted them. He gave them an urgent look.

“Apology accepted,” Yeosang said, dryly. “But don’t project your insecurities on me again.”

Hongjoong stared at his hands, afraid to look up and be judged by his friends, but eventually he had to lift his head to greet Yunho, whose eyes were sparkling brightly as were his cheeks. He stumbled a little when he followed San. He grinned abashedly as he took the seat between Wooyoung and Mingi, diagonally from Hongjoong.

“I’ve never played this game,” he whispered with wide eyes. “It looks complicated.”

“It’s not,” Seonghwa reassured him. “I learned it pretty quickly.”

Yunho giggled.

Hongjoong felt like he was drowning.

For a while he followed the game dully, biting his lower lip, and tried to laugh when his friends laughed, but it was suddenly so hard to be there. He wanted to crawl into his bed and not face the world for the next fifty years. 

Someone’s foot bumped into his and he ignored it, but then it happened again, so he looked up inquisitively. He saw Yunho stealing glances at him, a soft smile on his face. Hongjoong smiled back gingerly. 

Wooyoung was about to win when Seonghwa put down the card that exchanged his body with Wooyoung’s. Loud agitation followed his move.

“Nice!” Mingi was encouraging.

“Fuck you,” came Wooyoung.

“Wait, what happened?” Yunho questioned.

“He’s going to win, that’s what’s happening,” whined Yeosang, looking down at his three infected organs.

Seonghwa had a pleased smile on his face. 

Hongjoong quickly put down the virus he had been holding on to for a while.

“ _Aha_!” Yeosang cheered, sticking out his tongue at Seonghwa. “I love you, hyung!” He pat Hongjoong’s knee excitedly.

And just like that the pressure on Hongjoong’s chest eased a little.

It was way past midnight when the group dispersed, Yeosang accompanied Seonghwa over to his flat on the first floor, while Wooyoung and Hongjoong took a still inebriated Yunho with them. They had decided he would sleep on their couch.

While Wooyoung set up the couch with a blanket and pillows, Hongjoong was trying to make Yunho change into one of his clean t-shirts, but Yunho was behaving like a petulant child, whining and giggling as he gave Hongjoong hell.

“Yunho,” he said, sternly, trying to remove the stupid, oversized hoodie he was wearing (he didn’t even know how a hoodie _could be oversized_ on Yunho with how tall he was). “Don’t be an ass.”

Yunho pouted. “That’s mean. _You’re_ mean.”

“And you’re infuriating,” he shot back, pulling the hoodie over Yunho’s face until he finally gave in, putting his arms high in the air. Hongjoong accidentally pulled his t-shirt with the hoodie, leaving him to sit there shirtless. 

Yunho rubbed his bare arms. Hongjoong was surprised to find a tattoo edged into Yunho’s ribs, without thinking about it he trailed his fingertips over the ink.

Yunho shivered visibly, his hand covering Hongjoong’s, softly pulling it away. “Your fingers are cold.”

“Sorry.” Hongjoong quickly walked over to his closet to get him a change. “Here,” he said and put a t-shirt on his bed, next to Yunho. “Can you change by yourself?”

Yunho blinked up at him, his hair ruffled. Hongjoong stopped and just openly stared at him. Their eyes locked, Yunho’s were dark and dilated, and so, so dreamy. And he was so open, always had been. Hongjoong remember that from when they had been still young students in high school, staring after Yunho, with his broad shoulders and dark hair shining in the afternoon’s sun as he strolled through the corridors as if he owned them. 

“You’re—” Yunho suddenly spoke up, his voice quiet. “You’re pretty.”

Hongjoong blushed like he had never heard those words before.

“Thank you.” Yunho kept looking at him, his mouth parted. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Yunho grinned in a stupid and dopey way, already moving his lips to speak, but Hongjoong was scared it was going to be something really dumb and endearing, so he quickly took the t-shirt he had put on his bed and shoved it over Yunho’s head, who protested but ended up complying.

“There. All bed ready,” Hongjoong muttered. “I’m sure Wooyoung is done setting up the couch for you.”

Yunho pouted. “I thought I’d sleep with you…”

Hongjoong stared at him, keeping his cool. He scoffed, pointing at his bed. “Have you seen what I sleep on? I barely fit in there, what makes you think _you_ would fit in there?”

Yunho blinked, as if he only now was growing aware that he was sitting on Hongjoong’s bed. He turned around to stare at it. “I guess you have a point.” He sighed. “Another time then.”

“Excuse me?”

Yunho didn’t respond. He got up, stretching his arms above his head. Of course Hongjoong’s shirt on him was the tiniest bit too small—he had searched for his biggest shirt—and it rode up at the movement, revealing Yunho’s tanned hip bones and happy trail. Hongjoong had just seen him shirtless, and yet it caused his heart to expand and shrink, a tug in his abdomen. 

“Good night, hyung,” Yunho mumbled, his voice edging on sleepy all of a sudden. He offered a small and tired smile before he left Hongjoong to stand alone in his own bedroom.

He distinctly heard Yunho’s and Wooyoung’s quiet voices in the living room, followed by laughter. 

With a sigh he got ready himself, crawling under his blankets once he was done, content and pleasantly sleepy.

* * *

After failing a couple of times, they finished their recording for the project. With a victorious feeling Yunho and Hongjoong began cleaning up the studio so they could leave.

Yunho was humming under his breath as he unplugged his guitar and safely placed it in the case, wrapping the cord around his arm. Hongjoong was unscrewing cables and turning switches. Another group of students had rented the recording room in about an hour so they had to carry everything that was theirs to a storage room a few corridors over for the next time they’d use the room.

It took about half an hour and they were done, Hongjoong’s fingers screaming in protest as he pulled over his coat. He just wanted to get home and slide under the covers of his bed. It had been an exhausting day. Not just his classes and the project, but fighting the constant pull towards Yunho, to attune himself to Yunho’s need, his voice, the laughter that spilled out of his beautiful lips. 

If he wasn’t careful he’d just sit there like a fool, staring at Yunho as if he was the center of the universe; as if he was the only, omnipresent truth that roamed the globe; as if he was all Hongjoong needed to know for the rest of his (cursed, _very_ _cursed_ ) life.

They left the building and to their dismissal it was raining heavily. Mingi’s car was parked around the block. It was a blessing, really, that he had been nice enough to lend it to Yunho. 

Yunho pulled his jacket over his head and shot Hongjoong a magnificent grin. With a sigh, Hongjoong followed his example, pulling his coat over his bright blue hair.

“Race you!” Yunho shouted over his shoulder as he began to jog into the rain, a crazy smile splitting his face. The kind he got whenever he was teasing Hongjoong.

“That’s unfair,” Hongjoong whined but followed him.

It was hard to keep track of Yunho’s silhouette in the darkness of the night, especially in his black jeans and leather jacket, only the _splish-splash_ of his shoes on the wet pavement and his jovial giggles gave him away.

Hongjoong reached the red car seconds later, yanking open the passenger door. He got out of his coat, shaking his hair, droplets of water flying everywhere. He threw his coat to the backseat, where Yunho’s leather jacket was already lying.

He put on his seatbelt, comfortably settling into the seat.

Yunho started the engine and—the car broke down.

“Huh.” He tried again but it wouldn’t turn on. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Try again,” Hongjoong urged him.

“I am!” Yunho snapped. “ _Ugh_.” He let himself fall back against the driver’s seat, putting his index and middle finger between his brows, rubbing the skin there a few times.

Hongjoong blew his fringe out of his hair, mimicking Yunho’s position, drawing one of his legs up. “ _Great_ ,” he muttered. “Of course this is how this day ends.”

Yunho eyed him annoyedly, as if Hongjoong had just insulted him, and turned the key again but only so that he could turn on the radio. He let it play quietly. The whole scene felt intimate, _too intimate._ Hongjoong swallowed, growing aware that they were trapped in the rain, inside a car. 

He frantically sent Wooyoung a couple of texts, but Woyoung hadn’t been online for two hours. He tried Yeosang and San, the latter replying with a string of suggestive emojis that Hongjoong promptly ignored. He didn’t even bother to open Yeosang’s reply. Plus Yeosang was probably busy making out with Seonghwa.

“You were good today, hyung,” Yunho suddenly spoke up. He sat with his legs stretched out, the seatbelt unbuckled, his face was turned towards Hongjoong. His features were soft in the dim light inside the car.

“Thank you,” he mumbled in response. “I practiced hard.”

Yunho’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but his eyes, still on Hongjoong, were filled with an intenseness that made the air inside the car seem to shrink, the distance between them too. Yunho reached out his hand to brush a loose strand of Hongjoong’s blue hair aside, quickly recoiling when Hongjoong took in a sharp breath.

Yunho cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think we’ll ace this project.”

“I had a great teacher.”

Again, that twitch of his lips. It was unlike Yunho to hold back his smiles, so it made Hongjoong think that there was something else going on in his mind. Something Yunho was keeping from him. 

The answer, Hongjoong supposed, was in his serious and earnest gaze.

“Hyung, I—” Yunho began suddenly, but faltered. His eyes fell onto his hands, where they were fidgeting in his lap. “I’m glad we met again,” he settled for saying. It sounded inconspicuous enough, just a nice statement about their friendship, but Hongjoong could hear the restriction in Yunho’s voice—that it was a lot heavier than what he made it sound—and he could see, when Yunho looked up again, that there was a lot more to his words than what he had led on.

Hongjoong could barely hear his own thoughts with how loud the rain was falling onto the windows and the roof of the car now, almost in tune with how quick and loud his heart was beating.

But he remembered.

He remembered his hesitance, the lock on his heart to protect himself, he had tried so hard to not let this happen, but _damn it,_ _Yunho was right there_ , facing Hongjoong with wide and vulnerable eyes; a simmering heat in them too. The one Hongjoong had first noticed during Halloween, when their bodies had been so close and Yunho had let out that shuddering breath, his eyes closed as Hongjoong had trailed his lips on his neck.

Hongjoong had been in this position countless times, but he couldn’t—he refused—to believe Yunho would hurt him, it didn’t fit into his vocabulary. 

The words _hurt_ and _Yunho_ didn’t belong together. 

And Hongjoong was so, _so tired_ of keeping his space. To keep that distance up. He didn’t think he physically could do that anymore, if Yunho wanted to close the gap between them, then Hongjoong would let it happen.

_Damn it!_

He couldn’t look at Yunho and still firmly say he didn’t want to discover what those lips tasted like. And he knew—he could see it now, sense it now—that Yunho thought the same.

The rain sounded louder, or maybe Hongjoong had grown more conscious of his surroundings as time thinned out and expanded at the same time, the small space they found themselves in shrunk in on them, the heat from the heater—which automatically turned on since Seonghwa’s car was crap—only made the flames dancing on Hongjoong’s skin burn brighter, and, _damn it_ , he wanted to—needed to—feel Yunho’s fingertips trail over his skin. 

Flames on flames.

Without breaking their entangled gazes, Hongjoong leaned forward (he was so tired of waiting now, of playing this game of almost-but-not-quite) and Yunho mimicked his movement. 

They were only inches apart now.

It could have been in the middle of summer, Hongjoong’s t-shirt clinging to his skin, and he could see Yunho’s skin was glistening, but unlike in the club during Halloween, there weren’t lights reflecting on his face. It was just Yunho in all his raw beauty. 

Hongjoong wasn’t sure who moved first. It was as if their minds worked as one and suddenly his left hand was moving forward to hold onto the nape of Yunho’s neck, pulling him forward, and Yunho had his own hands reaching out towards Hongjoong, holding his waist tightly. 

Faintly Hongjoong was aware of the seat belt around his torso, restricting his movements and cutting his breathing short—not that there was much air in his lungs right then anyway. With every breath he took in, it was Yunho’s scent, and every breath he exhaled was shaking with anticipation. 

They were so close now. 

Yunho’s eyes were dark, his pupils dilated, but they were still so soft, so full of love, or want… Hongjoong wasn’t quite sure, his brain didn’t work with the usual clarity: want and need clouding his thoughts. 

Despite their positions and the obvious thoughts both of them had, neither moved, and it was frustrating, so with a shaky and almost broken voice, Hongjoong whispered, “You should kiss me, Yunho.”

Yunho’s fingers dug deeper into his waist and then went lax. “Y—Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze growing even more intense.

One of his hands vanished from its position, its phantom stayed, and then Yunho’s hand was holding Hongjoong’s face gently, like he was scared of applying too much pressure, afraid of breaking Hongjoong. 

His thumb ran over Hongjoong’s bottom lip, surprising him.

Hongjoong couldn’t help the shuddering exhale, his lips parting as if they were a puppet to Yunho’s touch. But nothing happened, Yunho just kept delicately tracing Hongjoong’s lips with his thumb, his eyes locked on them as if he was in trance.

It was driving Hongjoong crazy.

“ _Yunho_ ,” he whispered but it sounded more like a whine, his voice raw and deeper than usual. 

He was slightly embarrassed by the neediness in it.

This made Yunho’s eyes snap up and he looked at Hongjoong as if he was seeing him for the very first time ever. Hongjoong barely suppressed the shudder, and the butterflies raging in the pit of his stomach.

(In the back of his head, he remembered the moment Yunho had _actually_ seen him for the first time, around ten years ago, in high school. Yunho’s parted lips and delicate frown as he had watched him with confusion and—something else. Hongjoong hadn’t understood it back then, he still wasn’t sure he really did.)

“You’re beautiful,” Yunho said, earnestly.

Hongjoong hated him. 

“You’re infuriating,” he snapped back, but his whole self was on fire. 

He hated this so much, the desperation he felt.

Just as he thought he couldn’t do this anymore, that he was about to break, that the fire in him was about to explode and turn into a storm, Yunho’s thumb vanished, instead moving up to his cheek. He stroked it once before he finally leaned forward and closed the gap between them.

Usually Hongjoong had an ability to stay in control when he kissed someone, choosing when exactly he closed his eyes, how to position his hands, how to move his lips… But the moment Yunho’s lips graced his, at first in a shy and gentle manner, Hongjoong pressed his eyes shut until fireworks seemed to explode behind his eyelids and white noise took over in his mind. 

Or maybe it was the rain that he heard, tangling together with his violent heartbeat.

And he felt— _so much_. It was overwhelming. He felt Yunho’s hand on his waist, firmly holding him; Yunho’s hand on the side of his face, his touch so light and at the same time so present, his cool fingertips fighting that fire on his skin; Yunho’s lips on his, now kissing him more fervently, that slide of hot and wet.

Hongjoong wasn’t sure if he was kissing him back or not because his mind had gone completely blank, but the moment that initial surprise—want? longing? need?—subsided, he made a conscious effort to kiss Yunho back, angling his face to the side, pressing it more into Yunho’s hand. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever kissed someone that caused him to react on such an enormous scale. That had left him shaking and desperate and needy. That made him want to do nothing more than to let this carry on until he was reduced to whatever his heart, his body demanded and needed; until he couldn’t think anymore; until every thought in his mind was of the other person… 

He was falling and falling, and the salty and sweet taste of Yunho’s lips only made Hongjoong’s grip on control slip further away. 

The way in which Yunho was kissing him was unlike anything he had experienced—or maybe Yunho himself was unlike anyone Hongjoong had ever met—from that delicate and hesitant drag of his lips against Hongjoong’s, as if he was scared at first if that really was what Hongjoong wanted, to the ever growing deeper kisses that made him burst. From a soft breeze caressing Hongjoong’s skin to a whirlwind messing up every inch of him.

That quiet, soft, shy melody that turned into an unexpected crescendo of layered tones; the stillness of the night’s sky that suddenly got filled with fireworks lighting it up in beautiful colors.

Hongjoong was breathless, even if Yunho pulled apart every now and then to kiss the corners of his lips or his jaw, he was _still_ breathless. And his eyes were still shut, he was living in this small bubble in which all he knew was Yunho’s touch.

If Hongjoong was honest, he could lose himself in this. Unlearn everything he had ever been taught because there was nothing he wanted to do more than this: kiss Jeong Yunho religiously.

Once he believed he had reached the highlight of bliss, he felt both of Yunho’s hands on his waist again, sneaking below his t-shirt, his cold fingertips brushing against his bare skin, leaving a trail of ice cold fire.

It was becoming nearly too much to handle and the seatbelt was still constricting Hongjoong’s movements and his lungs, and if he didn’t pull away he feared he would cease to exist.

The little distance between their faces was filled with their ragged exhales. Hongjoong was scared to open his eyes, but he eventually did. He immediately met Yunho’s intense eyes, so much darker than usual. 

Hongjoong opened his mouth to say something, but it fell shut again. He tried again, “I—I thought you were straight,” he squeaked out stupidly. But he needed to know, he had to know that this wasn’t the same scheme he was falling into; the one where he got his heart broken by a curious, straight guy.

Yunho drew back, his hands falling from Hongjoong. “I’m not,” he confessed. “I thought I was, but I’m not.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong breathed, staring at him with still wide eyes. “So you’re—” he began, frowning. “You’re, ah, interested in me?”

Yunho smiled. “Yeah. I am, hyung. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“I didn’t know…” he admitted, embarrassed. “I was really busy trying not to fall for you to notice.”

Yunho’s grin grew. “You fell for me?”

Hongjoong groaned, shoving Yunho’s shoulder, and without any heat behind it he said, “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Hongjoong held Yunho’s gaze, the playfulness slowly fading until it was again intense and dark, and this time Hongjoong leaned forward without hesitation to kiss him again. The kiss was just as overwhelming as the first time. (He was kissing Jeong Yunho, damn it!) But it felt even more right, as if their lips were always meant to meet one another.

“I really—” Yunho mumbled between their kisses, breathlessly. “I really, _really_ like you.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong whined, unbuckling his seatbelt to press himself more comfortably against Yunho. It was still uncomfortably with the gearshift between them and with the confined space the car offered, but it was magical nonetheless.

“Do you, um, want to come over?” Hongjoong asked once they had finally decided that they should try the engine again as it was getting late.

Yunho looked away from the road for a second. “What—What do you mean?”

Hongjoong looked down at his hands, picking on the nail polish on his pinky finger. “Wooyoung is not home. We could, uh, I don’t know, talk? About this?” he gestured between them.

“Oh, right. Yes, sure.”

“Okay.”

* * *

When they arrived at Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s flat, they exchanged some tense and awkward words, both of them still thinking of that kiss. Now that they both knew they liked each other, that there were no more barriers between them, it was all they could think about. 

They had waited and waited, hesitant and unsure, but now there was nothing holding them back.

“Do you want a coffee—?” Hongjoong was in the midst of asking, tapping his index finger on the kitchen counter, when Yunho decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

It was all he had wanted ever since Hongjoong had sat down next to him in the summer class. Maybe he hadn’t known it at the time, too surprised that he was seeing Hongjoong again, that the universe had pushed them together after so many years. Trying to really befriend him, but he had noticed from that first (second) meeting a quiet flutter of butterfly wings in his heart.

He kissed Hongjoong fervently, pushing the older’s back into the kitchen counter. His hands sneaking underneath Hongjoong’s shirt to feel the warm skin. Yunho detached his lips from Hongjoong’s mouth and moved them to his neck, inhaling that now familiar scent of lemon and shampoo and something sweet.

“W—Wait,” Hongjoong breathed out, his voice hoarse. “We shouldn’t—We should talk…”

“We can talk afterwards,” Yunho said, but he did pull away to look down at Hongjoong. His eyes were so bright.

“Promise?” Hongjoong asked.

“Promise,” Yunho echoed.

They kissed again, but this time Hongjoong took control, dragging Yunho with him towards his bedroom.

It reminded Yunho a little bit of when he had walked into the sea, the way his entire being seemed to shiver as Hongjoong was touching him, stripping him…

He had been nineteen at the time; Mingi fresh with his driver’s license. He had set out on an adventure to drive Jongho and Yunho to the sea on a hot summer’s day. They hadn’t been expert drivers and of course the traffic of the highway had caught them off guard, terribly so, as they had sat in the suffocatingly hot car with barely anything to drink, in their swimming trunks and t-shirts, the windows rolled all the way down so that a breeze or anything could filter through.

It had been late in the afternoon when they had finally reached the beach, and Yunho hadn’t wasted any time, he had dropped his bag and had walked with his flip flops and t-shirt still on into the sea, his arms extended as he had welcomed the brush of the cool waves on his overheated and sensitive skin. 

The pleasure he had felt in that moment, the rush of electricity and bliss, it was comparable to how he felt right then, with Hongjoong’s hot lips trailing down his chest.

He remembered another hot summer day, past midnight, perhaps two years ago, when he had helped Jongho with basketball training. The two of them had lied on the court’s ground, the windows wide open and Seoul’s night traffic filtering through them, their exhausted breathing the only sound. It had been interrupted the moment a knock had come and a delivery man had stood by the door, holding out their food. When Yunho had swallowed down that first bite, it had been as if he never had eaten food before, tasting each single flavor and enjoying every little second of it. Chasing it down with cold water. 

It was a combination of those physical pleasures, those near-somethings and finally getting what he needed so desperately. Those little joys. But it was not as simple as that: the physical chase of a need.

There was this emotional layer to it, one that Yunho never quite had taken into consideration when it came to sex.

The emotional delight of being so close to Hongjoong, to feel their skin touching, to know they both wanted this and had yearned this; the door it opened… Yunho thought back to all those times his heart had grown a few sizes, and right then it was growing again a whole lot.

The way Hongjoong was touching him, his hands so delicate and exploring, like Yunho was a treasure or a miracle; it never had crossed his mind that he could be adored like this. Sex had never been uncomfortable for Yunho, but it never had been _this_ either.

Hongjoong was taking his time, his lips and fingers getting distracted with every bit of Yunho there was to see. 

With his past partners, sex had been rather quick and to the point, nothing too strange or long, no worship of each other’s bodies. He had known, of course, that it could look very different, but he never had thought that he could be loved and wanted like this. It made his heart beat so wildly, his mind so buzzed with love; above all it made him almost shy. Like it was his first time being naked in front of a partner.

He wanted to give back as much as he was receiving. He wanted to kiss Hongjoong in the same religious, unstrained way, because there were no walls anymore in between them, around them. It was just them in Hongjoong’s messy bedroom on a late November afternoon as the day came to an end. 

It was so simple, it _could_ be so simple.

Yunho felt the waves up and down his arms and legs and body when Hongjoong took him into his mouth.

The string of words that escaped him were choked and maybe not even words. There was not much he was in control of anymore aside from the pleasure and the love he felt; it almost made him cry, his heart aching in the best way possible.

They lied in the bed time later, both freshly showered, underneath the warm blankets of Hongjoong’s tiny bed. From the living room they heard an action movie as Wooyoung had gotten home some time ago, while they had showered.

He had given them a very knowing look. One that Hongjoong had returned with a crude gesture.

“You know,” Hongjoong started quietly, trailing his delicate fingers over Yunho’s shoulder as he had his head lying on Yunho’s chest, perfectly fitting into Yunho’s arms. “I had a crush on you in high school,” he admitted.

Yunho couldn’t help laughing at that. “You did? That’s adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“You say that so much it loses its meaning,” Yunho shot back.

Hongjoong pinched his shoulder. “I would always spy on you when you danced. It was so ridiculous.”

“Aw,” Yunho cooed. “I think I might have had a crush on you too,” he said then, thoughtfully. He felt Hongjoong angle his face upwards, his hair ticklish on Yunho’s bare skin. “I used to think you were this—this unapproachable, ethereal looking person. You were so cool.”

“I was definitely not cool in high school.”

Yunho shrugged. “I did think you were cool, hyung.”

“Well… Thank you.”

“Are you blushing?” Yunho asked, grinning at the ceiling.

“ _No._ ”

“Hey.”

Hongjoong made an exasperated sound. “What?”

“I really like you,” he said again, this time it seemed heavier than before.

Hongjoong propped himself up on his arms, staring down at Yunho. His eyes were dark, dazzling, and so, so beautiful. He leaned down to kiss Yunho gently.

“I really like you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


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